


The Italian Job

by GreyWolf55



Category: Garrison's Gorillas
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27369055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyWolf55/pseuds/GreyWolf55
Summary: The Gorillas have a new mission in Italy. Reading my previous two stories may help you make more sense of this one. (Please note that this story has no connection to other books and films of the same name!)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who wants to have a picture in their head of my canon character Monaco, look up Rossano Brazzi in 1956!

**The Mansion - December 26th, 1943**

Even though everyone knew they were heading back to Italy on Boxing Day, alcohol had flowed freely at the Mansion the previous night. There would be plenty of time on the endless flight around Spain to Italy to recover from any excesses - or so they'd thought.

Garrison was up and about first. With no sign of either Chief or Diesel to keep him company, he settled for a run on his own. It gave him time to go over his mental checklist of what would be needed this time around. Two miles later and he was nicely tired and ready to tackle some of the paperwork piled on his desk, at least to identify what couldn't wait until his return.

As he headed back up the stairs at the front of the Mansion he was passed by Chief and Diesel. Judging by the quiet banter that was going on, it sounded like they were both up for a bit of competition. The Lieutenant almost turned around to go with them, but he knew they'd leave him for dead and the stuff in the office couldn't wait. With a sigh he headed for a shower and a cup of coffee.

Judging by the tuneless humming coming from the kitchen, Sergeant Major Fletcher was on breakfast detail. That probably meant lumpy porridge and burnt toast. Garrison decided he would wait until his Indians were back before subjecting his stomach to that particular assault. 

Goniff was the next to appear, looking a trifle bleary-eyed, with his blond hair sticking up in peaks. He cocked his ear towards the kitchen, listening, then dropped unhappily onto Actor's chair, groaning as the movement exacerbated the drum beat in his head.

Casino emerged at the same time as Chief and Diesel returned from their run. Surprisingly, he was showered and dressed. He was also looking slightly more sprightly than Goniff.

"Who won today?" enquired the Warden.

Chief pointed to Diesel, with a smile on his face. It was the first time the Mohawk had beaten him and if he had his way it would also be the last, but it was hard to train when missions were back to back.

The kitchen door swung open to reveal William Fletcher, wearing his brown army uniform. "Ten minutes lads, just time for a shower if you're quick."

Garrison looked at Casino curiously - with the opening of the kitchen door had come the unmistakeable smell of bacon. Fletcher never gave them bacon. Something odd was afoot. Exactly what was happening was revealed a little while later when the Sergeant Major exited the kitchen carrying a dish of crispy streaky bacon - followed a moment later by Amber, the cook's niece, with a plate of American-style pancakes and a large jug of blackberry sauce (in lieu of blueberries). She led the way to the dining room, closely followed by four cons. Of Actor there was as yet no sign, which made Garrison slightly concerned - his conman had been quiet the previous night and had been first to retire. The Lieutenant decided to check that all was well, even if it meant he'd have to take a chance over what food was left for him.

Knocking on Actor's door elicited no response, so Garrison quietly opened the door and peered inside. The man was still asleep and had not reacted to the opening of the door, which in itself was worrying. Going over to the bed the Warden could see that the man lying there was not resting as quietly as he'd first thought - his breathing was heavy and in the light coming into the room from the hallway, Garrison could see his forehead was covered in perspiration. He put a hand to his second's forehead to find the man was burning with fever. With a sigh, he pulled the door closed and made his way back downstairs to find Fletcher.

"Sergeant Major, can you get onto the base hospital. We need a doctor out here, fast."

Amber lifted her head from serving bacon and pancakes to the men. Her aunt had let slip that if food was left as a free-for-all Goniff would gobble up more than his fair share, so she was making sure to keep Garrison's and Actor's portions secure.

"Do you want me to take a look at him?" she offered.

The Lieutenant had forgotten that the girl was a nurse at the base hospital. "That would be good, if you have the time."

"Will, guard those plates with your life," the young blonde instructed her aunt's soon-to-be husband, as she followed Garrison back up the stairs to Actor's bedroom.

Goniff looked disgruntled, but made do with another cup of tea. Now that was a pleasant change - the girl not only could cook pancakes, she also made a mean pot of tea.

In Actor's room, the Lieutenant flicked on the light-switch so Amber could get a good look at the sick man in the bed. Like the Lieutenant she put a hand to his forehead then checked the glands in his neck. They were noticeably swollen.

"Do you have a thermometer somewhere please, Lieutenant?"

"There should be one in the first aid cupboard. I'll go get it."

"Actor, wake up." Amber put her hand on the conman's arm and shook him gently. Tiredly he half opened his eyes and looked at the woman standing over him, but he didn't speak. He realised it hurt to swallow.

"How do you feel?"

Actor tried to run a physical inventory of himself, but his brain didn't want to work. "I ache all over," was the best he could manage.

The Warden returned, carrying a glass thermometer which Amber shook vigorously until the mercury was below the mark for 'normal' then popped it into Actor's mouth. A minute or so later she removed it and checked the reading. "A hundred and two Fahrenheit. That's not good, Lieutenant. I may be wrong, but I'm pretty sure your man has influenza. There's been a lot of it around over the past month. Half the beds in the hospital have flu patients in them at the moment."

Garrison nodded. They'd been so busy over the last month that the fact they were in the middle of a flu epidemic had passed him by. "I guess he'll not be coming to Italy with us tonight?"

"You guess right, Lieutenant. I'm sure the doctor will confirm it when he arrives, but he'll be out of commission for a couple of weeks at least - providing he escapes getting pneumonia." Amber had seen with her own eyes just how many healthy people the post-influenza pneumonia had taken away.

It was early afternoon before the army doctor made it out to the Mansion. As expected, he agreed with Amber that Actor was probably suffering from influenza, prescribed rest, APC to reduce the fever and a light diet with plenty of fluids. Afterwards he took Garrison to one side. "You know it's probable you'll all have it too... are you heading off again soon?"

"Tonight."

The doctor looked concerned. "Incubation is normally 24 to 48 hours... it would be safer if you could delay your trip by a couple of days, but knowing you and your men I don't suppose that's a possibility, is it?"

"Not likely at all."

"Did you debrief with Major Richards when you landed back from Gibralter?"

Garrison nodded.

"He's sick too, as are a lot of staff on that base... You know I'll have to report this, don't you?"

Garrison nodded for a second time.

**GG GG GG GG**

An hour later, temperature checks of Casino, Chief and Diesel were still normal but Goniff had started to show symptoms. Amber, in her most nurse-man-like manner managed to persuade the little Cockney that he needed to keep his germs to himself and retire to his bedroom. It was testament to how unwell he was starting to feel that the pickpocket agreed without protest.

When a few minutes later the phone rang, the Lieutenant wasn't surprised. He picked it up and responded with a curt "Garrison."

"Ah Lieutenant. Major Cavendish here. I've been asked to pick up some of Major Richards caseload whilst he's hors de combat." The voice was very plummy, with a British public school accent that Garrison immediately took a dislike to, even though he'd never met the man. "I understand you and your men are being picked up in a couple of hours to fly out to Italy. Is that right?"

"Yes sir."

"How many men are fit to fly, Lieutenant?"

"Just the four now, including myself."

"In your honest opinion Lieutenant, could the mission still go ahead without the other two?"

"We'd struggle without Actor. No one else has fluent Italian."

"And if you were loaned someone suitable?"

"That would depend. My men don't work well with people they don't know."

"I'll have a dossier sent over, but in the meantime I'm standing your group down for forty-eight hours. If no-one else gets sick by then you're going. I take it you can quarantine from the two men who're sick?"

"They won't go to the hospital, sir."

"Yes, Major Richards has a note to that effect. I understand you have one of the nurses from the base hospital staying with her aunt at the moment?"

"That's right."

"Well, if you're amenable I'll have her seconded to you for a couple of weeks. Since she's been exposed she'll have to isolate before she can go back to work so she might as well do something useful. I'll rearrange the transports for you Lieutenant. Any questions?"

"No sir," responded Garrison. He replaced the telephone gently on its cradle. Forty-eight hours, three fit men and the Doves off limits. How could he stop them killing one another? Suddenly inspiration dawned. He hit the intercom.

"Sergeant Major. I have a challenge for you."

**GG GG GG GG**

Early the next morning, the sound of two large trucks pulling into the compound pulled Casino to consciousness. He'd been anticipating a boring day baiting Chief and Diesel and possibly avoiding multiple runs around the track or target practice sessions, courtesy of the sergeant-major.

Curiosity prompted him to throw back the covers and check out what had disturbed his peace. Parked outside were two flatbed lorries. Chief and Diesel, dressed for their morning run, were looking curiously at what was filling each truck.

"Casino, get down here," yelled the Lieutenant.

The safecracker grimaced slightly, pulled on his pants and a pair of boots and headed downstairs, grabbing his leather flying jacket from the hall coat stand before heading outside.

The Warden was standing proudly alongside the lorries. "This, gentlemen, is your project. There are three wrecks up there. If you've anything like the skills you're supposed to have I imagine you can come up with one working vehicle before we leave for Italy. Your time starts now." 

The three men looked at each other. "He's joking, right?" asked Chief.

Casino looked at the retreating figure, making its way back to the house. "Not this time, babe. Not this time."


	2. Chapter 2

**The Mansion - December 28th, 1943**

Two days later and Actor still wasn't well enough to get out of bed except for trips to the bathroom. Amber kept him well supplied with books, but mostly he dozed off after only having read a few pages. Food still didn't really appeal, but he was managing to drink warm water with a little honey.

Despite the fact that Goniff was normally the one to get sickest, this time he'd not been hit as hard as the conman. He still had a slight temperature and no appetite, but at least he wasn't wheezing.

Amber had been strict about infection control, banning visitors from the infected men's bedrooms and being a tyrant over hand washing. It must have worked as after forty eight hours of quarantine no-one else had come down with the virus. Thank god he'd allowed the men to move to separate bedrooms in the house rather than occupy the camp beds in the common room, thought Garrison. If they'd still been sleeping communally there'd have been no chance of anyone avoiding catching the flu.

Amber's sisters Emerald and Sapphire, who were working as land girls on the local farm had luckily missed out, so far, on catching the virus - despite having been close to both infected men on Christmas Eve. Em had been persuaded to move into the Mansion for a few days to spell her younger sister in her nursing duties.

Both girls were sharing one of the spare rooms and avoiding the main living areas. Food for the 'sick bay' was being delivered by Will and he was making sure he kept the washing up separate too. Laundry, he'd decided, could wait until the Lieutenant had left.

"Car's due in half an hour. Everyone ready?"

A chorus of 'Yeah's' from the library made the Warden smile. The cars had been an inspiration, keeping scrapping to a minimum during their enforced 'lockdown'. There was a long way to go before they had the 'one completed vehicle' but at least that offered potential for future stand-downs. It hadn't been completely without incident of course, but Casino's high spirits had been confined to the obstacle course. He'd failed in his attempt to throw Chief into the mud wallow under the rope bridge but he had managed to shove Diesel off the log into the stream, which gave him some satisfaction although he knew he'd probably pay for it at some point in the future.

Diesel had simply pulled himself out of the stream laughing, with tendrils of water weed dangling from his hair. Hitting the cold water had been a shock but in view of what he'd done to Casino's shoulder on their last mission it hadn't been unexpected. The Mohawk set off in pursuit of the other two, but knew he had no chance of catching Chief.

"Truck's coming." The growl of a diesel engine confirmed what Chief had said.

"Hey Warden, ya gonna tell us what we're doin' at some point?" queried Casino. It was almost unheard of to go on a mission without one of Garrison's signature briefings, but so far the Lieutenant hadn't said a word.

"Don't worry, Casino. It can wait 'til we get to Italy."

"What about Beautiful, he's the only one speaks the lingo?"

"It's sorted," snapped the Lieutenant, putting an end to the matter.

Garrison picked up his kitbag and strolled out into the hallway. He looked up the staircase to the landing where Amber and Em were providing a send-off party. Sergeant Major Fletcher had emerged from the kitchen, where he'd been dealing with the latest batch of crockery. He was, rather incongruously, wearing one of Molly's frilly pinnies to keep his battledress clean. The Warden bit gently on the inside of his cheek to keep the grin off his face.

"Don't worry, Sir, they'll be well looked after. Should be right as rain when you get back."

The Lieutenant had no doubt about that. It would have been so much worse if he'd had to put Actor and Goniff in either the stockade or the base hospital. With a quick wave to the girls he ran outside to join the other three in the back of the truck.

**GG GG GG GG**

Probably because Goniff wasn't on the mission, the C-47 flight to Gibralter then on to Capodichino in Italy was one of the smoothest they'd ever had. Unfortunately that didn't include the landing. By the time the plane touched down the heavens had opened, the runway was awash and it was only by some miracle that the skidding aircraft missed the rows of Spitfires lined up alongside.

"Welcome to Italy," quipped Casino, his heart rate starting to come back somewhat to normal.

"It's winter, Casino. It rains a lot around here."

"Hey, is that a volcano?" Chief was trying to peer through the water cascading down the small windows, but thought he could see steam or smoke pouring from the top of an adjacent mountain.

"Vesuvius," supplied the Warden. He'd been here before in the early thirties and done the full sight-seeing bit. He peered over Chief's shoulder - the volcano was much more active than when he'd been here last.

"It'll just be our bad luck that it'll blow while we're over here," muttered Casino grumpily.

"Thought you liked explosions, Pappy?"

Chief was treated to one of the safecracker's more disgusted expressions. He in turn responded with one of his enigmatic smiles that often meant a wrestling match was imminent. Fortunately the appearance of the navigator strolling back down the aircraft to open the rear door distracted everyone's attention and the moment passed without bloodshed.

The rain shower had passed as quickly as it had arrived, but it would take a while for the water level to drop. A truck had detached itself from the conglomeration of tents that seemed to be doing duty as barracks, mess hall and whatever other facilities the airbase required. Several of the tents were now partially submerged, with their desperate occupants trying vainly to rescue clothes, bedding and personal possessions before they were completely saturated.

Casino shook his head in amazement. "I thought we had it bad. Can you imagine being stuck here for months on end. It'd do my head in."

The truck pulled up alongside. Its driver, a USAAF corporal seemed cheerful enough, despite the conditions. "I guess you're Garrison's lot. Can't be anyone else crazy enough to fly in from choice." He pulled the vehicle close enough to the ladder so that the men could step across without getting wet feet. "Ferry service to Naples comin' up. Hold on tight, it'll be a bumpy ride."

**GG GG GG GG**

Naples had suffered badly during its liberation the previous September, mostly at the hands of the retreating Germans, with the water poisoned, food factories destroyed and buildings blown-up. Garrison was glad that their stay there would only be short. With only a few hours to wait before it was dark enough for their patrol boat to leave, the team had been billeted in a room in the Royal Palace that was being used as barracks for the naval officers.

It could have been worse. The roof didn't leak, there was a bed and armchairs to relax in or on and dinner, of a sort, had been provided.

A young marine came to collect them at 6pm and take them down to the docks. A couple of bombed hulks still decorated the harbour, but judging by the bustle on the wharves shipping was in full flow again. Their transport, a fast Patrol Boat of about 20m in length, was bobbing gently against the jetty, her crew lounging on the deck smoking.

The captain separated himself from his men and came over to meet the newcomers. "Garrison, Lieutenant Tregenna. Welcome on board." English, with a west-country accent, the Royal Navy man was stocky with a full brown beard and would have looked as at home on a fishing boat as on his naval vessel. "We're short handed tonight so there's plenty of room for your men to stow themselves and their kit. The bad news is that the dinghy was damaged yesterday so you're going to have to wade ashore when we get there."

Garrison grimaced slightly. It was something he hadn't factored in to the planning. "How long?"

"Conditions are good, so we'll probably average about 25 knots... say seven or eight hours if the u-boats don't delay us."

Garrison nodded. That matched with what he'd thought. "Get on board," he instructed the other three curtly. Seeing them step safely across the gap to the swaying deck he followed his men on board. This was the worst thing about this job, he thought. The amount of time spent hanging around. He made his way below decks, found a comfortable corner and settled down for the duration.


	3. Chapter 3

**Italy - December 31st, 1943**

The patrol boat's engines were barely ticking over as she edged slowly into the small bay. The muffled exhaust would have scarcely been discernible from the shore and her dark hull was almost invisible against the grey ocean and grey sky. With no visible moon the only light was phosphorescence coming from the small waves breaking gently on the beach.

A seaman dropped an anchor off the stern. This they would use to winch themselves off the beach without using their engines. A slight jerk and the boat gently touched the sandy bottom. The skipper cut the engines and indicated to his passengers it was time to go over the side. They would be in over three feet of water and without the use of a dinghy the water would be over their waists. Each man carried a large dry bag containing his civilian clothing, ammunition and pistol and had stripped to their underwear to wade ashore.

The boat was already pulling itself back out into deeper water before its passengers reached the beach. By the time Lieutenant Garrison was on dry land the boat had gone.

A disembodied voice spoke from a short distance away. "Siete dei naufraghi che hanno bisogno di aiuto?" It was the code phrase Garrison had been expecting - 'Are you shipwrecked sailors needing help?'.

"Sì, sei una sirena?"

The voice sounded familiar to Garrison, but for the moment he couldn't quite place it. He put the thought to the back of his mind, sure it would come to him in due course.

A light laugh came from the woman who had spoken. She continued in Italian accented English. "Welcome ashore my friends, in front of you there is a small boat house. Inside you will find robes, towels, beach shoes and a shielded torch. There is a stairway from the beach to the house. You may join me in the villa when you are ready. I will have hot drinks for you, I expect you're cold down there." She laughed again.

"Damn right it's cold," muttered Casino. The wet material of his shorts was flapping against the top of his leg in the slight breeze, accentuating the chill. The other three seemed unaffected, or were more of a stoic disposition.

Chief led the way across the gritty sand and found the rough wooden doors that the woman had referred to. The right-hand door was unsecured and its hinges oiled so that it yielded easily when he pulled it open. The four slipped inside and closed the door behind them. It was warmer within, but still cold.

The Navajo felt carefully around until his probing hand encountered the torch. Even though shielded, to the men's dark-accustomed eyes the torch was producing a good amount of light.

As promised there were towelling bathrobes hanging neatly on a row of hooks and a shelf unit contained a stack of towels. Underneath the towels were pairs of espadrille-type canvas beach shoes. Presumably the boat house was used as a changing room for those swimming from the beach.

Casino grabbed robe and towel, stripped off the claggy underwear and briskly towelled himself dry. "What?" he asked, challengingly.

Garrison just smiled. He knew his safecracker had no issues about his body, and the man did have a point. There wasn't much point in getting the robes wet, and he doubted their hostess would appreciate them sitting on her sofas in wet and salty clothing. The robes went on, the shorts were dropped and, rather more discretely than the New Yorker, both the Lieutenant and Diesel joined Casino in their mode of dress.

"You better hope there's no wind blowin' outside when you go up those stairs," advised Chief. Even though he'd lived with these men for nearly a year he had issues over nakedness, a legacy of his time in jail that would never leave him. He knew they were right, but he waited until he'd ascended the stone steps to the cliff top before shedding his own wet clothing.

Following the restricted beam of the torch, the four tracked a narrow pathway from the top of the low cliff until it reached a cream-painted villa, accessed via a short flight of balustraded stone steps. In the dim light of the torch, that was all that could currently be seen.

Garrison was the first to open the pair of doors at the top of the stairs. He walked into a small foyer cloaked with blackout curtains, waited till the other three had joined him and Diesel had quietly shut the doors behind them, before pulling the curtains to one side. They found themselves in a large, double-height marble-floored room. It was furnished with red velvet sofas and a number of occasional tables. A staircase in one corner climbed to a second storey balcony behind which were a number of wooden doors.

The woman who had greeted them on the beach was sitting on one of the small sofas, casually thumbing through a magazine. She stood as the men came into the room, revealing that she was wearing a full-length emerald green satin dressing gown. Shoulder-length, wavy auburn hair hung loose framing her face. She was probably in her mid-forties, but it was hard to tell.

Her eyes scanned the men standing in front of her, clearly appreciating what she saw. Her expression changed though when she focused on the Lieutenant. "Craig? Is it you caro?" She sounded both unsure, but pleased.

"Francesca." A small smile played across his lips as he recognised the woman standing in front of him. She raised her right hand, inviting the Lieutenant to kiss the back of it. Holding the bathrobe firmly secured with one hand to prevent it from revealing more than he was comfortable with, Craig bent over and touched his lips to the proffered fingers.

"Gentlemen, it is late. I for one am ready for my bed." To confirm the point a clock on one of the side tables chimed two. "The spare rooms are behind the doors above me. There is coffee on the side table, I will see for you breakfast in the morning. Come caro, we have much to talk about." Francesca collected Garrison's hand in her own and led him away towards her private quarters. He did not fight her, but he did look back at his men with a slightly panicked expression.

Casino looked at Chief and Diesel. He had seen the look, but was unsure what to do. "D'you think he needs rescuing?"

Chief shrugged. The Warden might have an uncomfortable time of things, and would sure get ribbed, but he doubted it would be fatal.

"Nah, I'm sure he's got matters well in hand," added Diesel, laughing.

A movement on the mezzanine balcony caught Chief's attention. A man had moved into view - tall, distinguished, wearing a burgundy smoking jacket and dark grey trousers. Diesel followed the direction of Chief's gaze and froze when he identified the figure in the shadows. "Monaco?"

"Lupo." The man on the balcony nodded minutely and tipped his head in acknowledgement. He then turned abruptly and made his way via the connecting staircase into the parlour. He was smiling slightly as he joined the other three, who were all now feeling rather underdressed. "I had been planning on joining you for a chat, but since I see Francesca has abducted your Lieutenant I think I should show you to your rooms instead and we can speak in the morning." Monaco started to lead the way, then had another thought. "There are private facilities in each room and the towel rails are heated so your clothes should be dry by morning."

"Lupo?" Chief murmured, raising an eyebrow.

Diesel smiled, but didn't explain.

**GG GG GG GG**

Comfortable beds, clean sheets, peace and quiet and no alarm clocks meant that no-one woke early the next day, even Chief. He was the first downstairs and took the opportunity to explore the house. Someone had been up before him and had thrown open the shutters to reveal a panoramic view of the ocean. Outside the sun was shining, sparkling off the water like diamonds. Adjacent to the large parlour was a dining room laid out with a selection of meats, cheeses and breads. A pot of coffee was keeping warm above a small burner and he helped himself to a cup of the brew whilst he continued his exploration. The kitchen and a laundry room occupied a semi-basement, but of staff there was no sight. Whoever had prepared the house that morning had been and gone.

Returning to the dining room for a refill of coffee he found Diesel already helping himself to some of the pastries. "Not bad for a safe-house, is it? Wish they were all like this."

Chief smiled. You'd never know they were behind enemy lines and there was a war going on out there. "Was the Warden holdin' out on us? Think he knew who was replacing Actor?"

"I'm sure did." Monaco had entered the room without either man hearing him, which was a feat in itself. "Someone in London has been pulling a few strings, I think, and I have my suspicions as to who that might be." Hayter's ex-conman drifted to the table and fastidiously picked up a few morsels and chewed them.

Diesel was intrigued as to how Monaco had been 'acquired' for their mission. "What happened to you back in Normandy? Last I saw you were heading for Spain in the company of those Resistance guys?"

"I ran out of money," replied Monaco. "The Bosch were making life very difficult for the escape routes. I got as far as Perpignan but couldn't pay for papers or pay the guides, so made my way to the casino in Marseille."

"They caught you cheating?"

"Not quite. Let's say the manager took exception to the extent of my winnings and sent some heavies to apply a little pressure."

"The fact you're here to tell the tale says who won that little battle," commented Diesel, laughing as he helped himself to another pastry. They really were rather good.

"That is true, but it turned out I had someone to help me. There was a man in the casino that night who recognised me. He was part of the team that did our initial training in Canada, the British SBS man."

Diesel nodded, remembering clearly the man Monaco was talking about.

"I think he told someone in London I'd surfaced again and where I could be found. A couple of days later I was approached by someone from the British SIS who suggested I might like to work for them and I had no option but to agree. The terms are much better than we had before, a little bit of light spying in return for my parole."

Knowing Monaco as well as he did, Diesel knew the Italian was playing down the danger of the job he was doing, but he wasn't about to say anything.

"So how much did they pay you to do this one?" queried Chief, now happily ensconced by the patio doors. He wasn't worrying about anything at the moment - he had food, coffee and a good view. On days like these, life was pretty good.

"Purely my sense of duty, young Chief." Monaco was pleased he'd been able to remember the Indian's name even though he'd only met him the once, five months earlier.

Diesel laughed. "Did Francesca throw you out of her bed when she saw the alternative on offer."

Monaco tried to look offended, but the Mohawk was pretty close to the truth.

"We have been friends for many years," the conman finally admitted. "We moved in the same social circles before I left Europe. She and her husband were quite the handsome Society couple, but they were not close. He had many mistresses that he liked to flaunt. She found it degrading."

"She know the Warden from some time in the past?" Chief was intrigued. The Lieutenant kept his private life just that. If he had someone in the UK they'd not found out about her yet.

"So I understand. She apologised to me this morning, before she left for Rome, for being remiss in her social obligations and abducting 'her Craig'. From what she said they met in New York when the Lieutenant was about eighteen. I understand she was keen to see how his education had progressed." Monaco tried and failed to keep the grin from his face as he enlightened the two Indians.

Footsteps on the marble floor outside put paid to any further conversations on the topic as first Casino, then shortly afterwards Garrison arrived. Casino headed straight for the buffet and dug in like a starving man, not acknowledging the other three in the room. Garrison paused in the doorway as six eyes met his.

"What?"

"Nuthin' Warden, just nuthin'," answered Chief, a big grin on his face. He pulled out his switchblade and gave it his full attention.

"Well just keep it that way." Garrison made his way to the rapidly emptying table and grabbed a few items.

Having missed the conman's explanation, Casino looked at Chief and Diesel in puzzlement, but neither were forthcoming. Oh well, he'd get Chiefy to fill him in later.

"Will Francesca be joining us this morning?" asked Diesel innocently, sending Chief into paroxysms of silent laughter.

"Knock it off, Diesel. We had a lot to talk about, that's all... No, she's on her way back to Rome now. It's New Year's Eve tonight in case you hadn't noticed and she's hosting a big party for some Nazi big wigs."

That got Casino's attention. "She's a collaborator?"

"No, Casino, she's a society hostess. Her husband was a Fascist and a good friend of Mussolini. She comes by a lot of important information that finds its way back to London. She's a very valuable asset."

"Where's the husband now?"

"Dead." 

"Oh."

"Right. If we've finished with discussing how I spent the night, how about we get on with our own mission. I can see you've all met Monaco again. Anybody not happy with working with him on this one?" Garrison waited a moment. "In that case, fill up your coffee cups and come on through to the other room. We've a mission to plan."

"If you're sure you're not too tired, Warden." Casino always had to have the last word.


	4. Chapter 4

**Mansion - December 31st, 1943**

Emerald collapsed back into the wing-backed armchair that was usually considered as belonging to Actor, with a big sigh. "Thought being a land girl was tough, but at least we finish when it gets dark. Here it's 24x7. I knew we'd be running around for the lads, but I didn't think we'd have to do the cleaning too."

Amber laughed. She was perched on 'Chief's chair', pulling back an old sweater and rewinding it to make a ball of wool that could be reused to make something new. She wasn't sure just what - knitting wasn't a skill she'd learned as a child, but it kept her hands occupied and forced her to sit still.

"The ATS girls will be back in on Monday. It wasn't their fault Will gave them one week passes thinking this place would be empty." And at least they'd avoided the virus, thought Amber. "How are our patients?"

"Asleep again, but I managed to persuade both of them to have a drink before they dropped off."

"It's hit Actor hard, his breathing's still pretty bad, but he's not getting worse at least and the fever's dropped a little."

"Are you still giving him the sulfa pills?"

Amber nodded. "I'm not sure they're doing much good though. It's a shame we can't get our hands on penicillin yet. From what I've heard it would fix him in hours, but the doctors think it'll be another month or so before the labs can manufacture enough to send it out to the bases."

"Goniff doesn't seem too bad. I think he's just sleeping so much because he was exhausted and half-starved. Aunt Molly says for a small guy he eats way more than the others."

"Tapeworm?"

"Aunt Molly's already wormed him, she told me," replied Amber. "She was doing the dogs and decided to do Goniff as well."

"She gave him dog wormer?" Emerald sounded shocked.

"I doubt it, but she did get it from the vet. Said it was easier than trying to get it from the British Army. I'm going to have a chat with one of the base doctors when I get back to work. An over-active thyroid can cause weight loss. I don't know if it's ever been checked, but it might be worth a look."

"It's New Year's Eve tonight. Looks like it's going to be a quiet one for us this year. I doubt Actor or Goniff will be up for first-footing, which only leaves Will - he's not your quintessential tall dark handsome stranger."

"Chief would have been perfect, or the other one, Diesel. Shame they got dragged off back to Italy. We could have had a nice party. This place would be perfect - push the furniture back, put a gramophone in the corner." Amber sighed deeply. Whilst it had been nice spending a few days with her sister, she was looking forward to getting back to her life at the hospital.

A thump from one of the bedrooms attracted their attention. "My turn." Amber put the wool down on the floor and headed out. A quick check of Goniff's room showed him still sleeping quietly, so he wasn't the cause of the noise. She tapped gently on Actor's door but didn't wait for a response before opening it and going in. The conman was sitting on the edge of his bed, slippers on his feet and a belted dressing gown over his pyjamas. At first sight it wasn't obvious what had caused the crash."

Actor looked up at the nurse with a somewhat supercilious expression on his face.

Amber saw the look for what it was - he was guilty of something. She tipped her head to one side and gave him her sternest nurse's face.

"I would like a bath, then to join with everyone for midnight." Actor coughed slightly and winced at the discomfort, but continued nevertheless. "I know I am not well yet, but I think I can manage that much with help."

"Tell me first what the noise was."

"One of the drawers fell out of the chest. I was simply trying to retrieve some clean clothing."

"Actor, you're an idiot, you know that don't you. Em and I are meant to be here to help you. You could have just asked."

"I prefer not to have ladies rummaging through my personal items."

Amber burst out laughing. She didn't know what he was hiding in there. If it had been Goniff she would have bet on girlie magazines, but somehow Actor didn't seem the type. Suddenly the pieces dropped into place. "Actor, you're not just an idiot, you're crazy. You have a spare pipe in there don't you? You know what it'll do to your lungs?"

The Italian looked totally crestfallen. He took the pipe and tobacco out from under his pillow, where he'd pushed them when the young nurse had barged into his room, and reluctantly handed them over.

Amber sat on the bed alongside the conman and gave his hand a squeeze. "I know it's tough. How many cigarettes do you smoke a day?"

Actor shrugged. "I've never counted."

"I'd guess based on the ashtrays we cleared out when the others left it's twenty or thirty. When was the last time you went this long without a cigarette or your pipe?"

"I can't remember. Even on missions someone's always had a packet."

"And if you have to go longer you get antsy and bad-tempered. You must be climbing up the wall now. Well, since I doubt you're up to stopping right now I'll do you a deal. You can have your pipe to see in the New Year if you're still awake by then. In the meantime, bath, dinner and a nap. We'll wake you up at 11. How does that sound?"

"You're a very hard woman, Amber."

She got to her feet. "I'm a nurse, Actor. I'll run that bath for you. Do you think you can walk that far?"

"Yes."

"Well give me a call when you're ready to get into the tub. I don't want you falling. No ifs, buts or other excuses... I'll leave you a towel to protect your modesty... though why it should bother you I've no idea. I think I've seen pretty much everything God gave to man. I doubt yours is any different."

"Perhaps not, but I would prefer not to become part of your reference collection." Actor sounded offended.

Amber couldn't help but laugh. He might be an arrogant son of a bitch, but she liked him. Such a shame it hadn't been the young Indian that had got sick... she stopped her thoughts quickly. You're a wicked young woman Amber, she told herself, having thoughts like that. She placed an old sheet in the bottom of the tub to make it less slippery, set the water to running, then when it was ready went to check on Goniff whilst Actor readied himself.

The Limey was half-awake and raised an inquisitive eye as Amber stepped into his room.

"Fancy getting up for midnight?"

"Yeah, would be a nice change. Anyfink special for dinner?"

Amber was pleased to hear that Goniff was getting his appetite back. He must be on the mend. "Whatever Aunt Molly brings us over. Be back in a min - need to get Actor in the bath."

"Don't suppose I could have one too, luv? Don't mind sharing 'is Lordship's water if I 'ave to. Used to it, see."

"I'll see what we can do." Privately Amber thought the old boiler might be persuaded to deliver enough for a second load though she and Em would have to do with a stand-up wash with water from the kitchen copper.

Actor was breathing like he'd run a marathon, but he was perched on the closed toilet seat, sans pyjamas, bathrobe around his shoulders and with a towel discreetly placed across his lap. With a steadying arm he made it into the tub and stretched out as pleasurably as he could, given his long legs and the fact that the bath was quite short.

Amber trotted back to the common room to update her sister.

"I'll do Goniff if you like, whilst you get Actor back to bed. Shall I have a word with Will? See if he and Aunt Molly want to join us. What about Saf?"

"We can ask her, but I doubt she'll want to take the risk, having just told us she's expecting."

Amber looked at her watch. Time to recover Actor before he drowned. "Better give me a hand Em. He'll be weak as a kitten."

In fact, Actor had dozed off, but based on the grey scum in the water had managed some sort of wash before it happened. "OK, Beautiful, on your feet." It was a bit of a struggle, but the two girls managed to get the man upright and wrapped toga-like in a second sheet. He was, as predicted, rather shaky on his feet, but managed a dignified shuffle back to his bedroom where he closed the door firmly in their faces.

"He didn't like you calling him Beautiful, where did that come from?" asked Amber.

"Aunt Molly said Casino calls him that all the time. Thought it might wake him up a bit," replied Emerald, rounding up the detritus of wet sheets. "You get the bath running and I'll get Goniff. There are some benefits from heaving hay bales around all day. I'd never have been able to manhandle Actor like that a few months ago." She laughed ironically.

Goniff's bath went much more easily, testament to how much less ill the little Cockney was. He made it down the corridor under his own steam, his modesty protected by a small towel.

"Good thing he's not any fatter," commented Amber, watching his progress. "I think we'd better find him a bathrobe, don't you?"

The flush of the old toilet alerted the girls to the fact that it was safe to approach. Em stuck her head around the door, to find the little Cockney already in the tub. "Give us a call if you need a hand out."

"Will do," was what she thought she heard, but it was hard to be sure as the little blond was pouring jugs of water over his head.

The bang of the back door heralded the arrival of Aunt Molly with supper.

"I'll see if she and WIll want to pop over to see in the New Year." Em shot down to the kitchen and returned a few minutes later, shaking her head. "Didn't think it would be fair on Saf, says she'll see us in the morning. Just me and you then sis. Thought we'd be partying the night away at the Air Base tonight with a pack of USAAF aircrew. Funny how things pan out, isn't it." Em gave a wry smile. "Let's get Goniff before he turns into a prune."

**GG GG GG GG**

Tired by their baths, both men slept until they were offered supper - the remnants of a ham hock, much padded with root vegetables to make a tasty, salty stew that was an excellent foil for chunks of crusty bread.

Amber brought a couple of bottles of beer to the table and handed one to Em. "Will said we could have them, said we deserved a treat. Just don't tell Goniff."

By the time the clock chimed eleven, both girls were ready for their own beds but were determined to stick it out for another hour.

"Time to wake the boys up?" Em had been dozing, lulled by the warmth of the fire.

Amber yawned widely and tried to transfer some energy to her tired limbs. "Will they notice if we don't?"

"Absolutely they will."

Amber cocked an eye towards the corridor as a rich voice cut through her stupor. Actor was standing on the landing, supported by a cane on one side and the small Cockney pickpocket on the other. He was dressed in silk pyjamas and a brocade dressing gown. Goniff's striped cotton nightwear was much less salubrious.

"Whisky, coal, a ginger biscuit and one tall dark stranger." With a flourish, Goniff placed the gifts on the small table in the middle of the room then guarded Actor as the Italian carefully made his way to his armchair. Once the conman was safely settled he went to the display cabinet and retrieved four glasses, filling them all with measures of the spirit. "Don't suppose I can have a ciggy, love? It being New Year and all that."

Amber pulled a velvet shoe bag from under her chair and ceremoniously returned pipe and tobacco to Actor and a packet of cigarettes to Goniff. "On your heads be it and, under pain of death, don't let on to the doctor or I'll lose my job."

Em passed matches to both men. She was holding their lighters hostage until the two men got the all clear from the medics.

"We wouldn't do that love, would we Actor?"

The conman was reverently packing his favourite briar with tobacco, making the process last as long as possible. He knew he was being foolish, but it was hard to deny the cravings. He lit the pipe, taking care to savour the smell and not inhale deeply. He suppressed the urge to cough, knowing that Amber would probably snatch his treat away from him.

The four sat companionably, thinking their own thoughts, listening to the crackling of the fire, sipping the scotch.

"Shall I put the radio on?" asked Goniff not long before midnight. He went to the set and clicked the switch, waiting for the valves to warm up. Some Scottish clergyman was just finishing up a short service. The chimes of Big Ben would be next.

"Wonder what this year will bring?" surmised the little Cockney. "Couldn't have guessed what forty-three had to bring this time last year, sat in my cell in Sing-Sing."

"Me neither, Goniff. I was bored stiff working as a clerk in a solicitor's office, with everyone telling me it was about time I got married like my sisters. War brings opportunities for people like me we'd never get in peacetime," responded Emerald. "Work was seen as just a way to pass the time until I became some man's housewife."

Goniff actually looked quite shocked. He'd never really thought about what life might be like for middle-class women. People like his mum worked 'cos they needed to. He hadn't realised that girls like Em and Saf were not only expected not to work but actually looked down on for doing it.

Actor had been more aware, but like Goniff he hadn't spent much time with girls like Emerald. "What does your father do?"

"He was a lecturer in European Politics at Oxford, but now he's an analyst at Bletchley Park. Mum never got a chance to do anything much. She was the daughter of one of the Fellows, met dad, got married, produced kids..."

Actor detected a hint if bitterness in Em's little explanation. "You think she wanted something more?"

"If I'm honest, I hadn't thought about it until war broke out, but watching her now, I'd have to say yes."

Actor had barely puffed at his pipe, which had gone out. Now, as the chimes of Big Ben rang out, his eyes were starting to close. By the time the twelfth bell rang out, he was fast asleep. Carefully Em took the abandoned pipe and put it safely to one side. She gave a kiss to Goniff, switched off the radio, hugged her sister and returned to the Italian. "Come on Beautiful, on your feet, your bed beckons."

"We could just leave him here," muttered Amber as it took all three of them to hoist the man to his feet and steer him to his bedroom.

"I'll manage him from here," Goniff said. Actor was just about moving under his own steam now and he could see the girls were out on their feet. "Thank you for a luverly evenin'."


	5. Chapter 5

**Italy - December 31st, 1943 (later that day)**

Having finally got everyone's attention Garrison was, at last, able to start his briefing. In his hand he held a number of photographs. He threw the first of them, showing a long, narrow building with what looked like a race track on the roof, onto the table. "Our target is the Fiat factory at Lingotto in the heart of Turin. Before the war it was producing sedans and commercial vehicles but now its output is aircraft engines. We're not there to blow-up the factory this time."

"Never mind Casino, I'm sure he'll have something else for you to do," interrupted Chief, earning himself a black look from his CO. The scout slid down in his seat a little and looked at his feet, allowing the Lieutenant to continue.

"We're being asked to do something very close to your hearts, gentlemen - to liberate some Italian gold before it goes up in smoke. In three days time the Allies are planning on bombing some of the factories in northern Italy - including this one."

Garrison had deliberately kept their target concealed until now. Normally a discussion like this would have taken place back at the Mansion before they left, but with a substitute conman on board he'd not only wanted a level playing field for the planning process but also to be able to factor in any new information that Monaco might have. He also knew the word 'gold' would be a magnet to Casino's ears. Although he pretty much trusted his safecracker's integrity, there was temptation and there was TEMPTATION.

Casino’s attention was finally on his boss.

"Back in September, when the Germans invaded Italy they insisted that all the bullion being held in the Bank of Italy's vaults in Rome should be transferred to Berlin for 'safe keeping'. As you can imagine the Bank disagreed but in the end they had to give way. It was moved by train from Rome to Milan, then the bulk of it moved to a place called Fortezza out near the Austrian border." Garrison flipped a second photograph onto the table which showed a large and formidable grey building with walls studded with arrow slits, backed by towering rock walls. The side facing the valley was protected by a large reservoir.

"Nah, nothin' doin'. No way we're gettin' into there babe," whinged Casino.

Garrison was entertained. He'd never had any intentions of going anywhere near the place, but since he had the photo he wanted to have a bit of fun at his man's expense.

"Don't worry, Casino, you're not being asked to." The Warden smiled. "What's happened is that someone has done a few sums and worked out that not everything that left Rome arrived at it's destination. We've heard that some of the missing bullion might be hidden in Turin. The Allies want to get their hands on it."

"Who's our mole, Warden?" Chief was perched on a radiator by the window, watching the waves outside, but still listening.

"A clerk in the vaults in Milan. He signed for the crates coming off the Rome train. He thinks there's a shortfall of about 400kg - about the weight of all of us combined.

"So why Turin?" Diesel enquired quietly. "That means it has to be an Italian that's behind the scam. The Germans would be taking stuff east not west."

"That's what London thinks too," responded Garrison. "They've been analysing reports coming out of both the RIV ball bearing factory at Villar Perosa and the Fiat Factory in Turin. There was a rail car added to a train that left Milan a few hours after the gold shipment arrived. It belonged to the FIAT company and was headed for the ball bearing plant but it did stop off in Turin. Unfortunately we don't know who was on that train."

Monaco nodded slowly. He was examining the map of Italy that Garrison had spread on the dining table. "It will take too long to get to Turin by road, even if we can get petrol, but the railways are still running well." He traced a line from Rome to Florence, Bologna, Milan and finally Turin. "Much of this is electrified and the trains are very quick. It was one of the good things the Fascists did for Italy." The conman laughed ironically. "Would you like me to telephone Francesca and arrange for tickets and travel passes?"

Garrison was surprised at Monaco's offer of help. He hadn't expected Hayter's conman to be quite so well connected. He had, after all, only been back in his home country for about six weeks. Still, it made sense to go by rail although it was more risky. Casino could masquerade as Italian providing he didn't get into a real conversation. Diesel's papers would need to show him as French. Chief... he didn't know. For once he was glad he didn't have Goniff to worry about this time. He wasn't sure about his own 'allegiance'. Although his French wasn't as good as his German, being French might be less contentious than being German. He made his decision. "If you think she can swing it, then yes, go ahead." Quickly he outlined his thoughts about the backgrounds for each traveller and watched Monaco absorbing the information.

"I think we make Chief French too. He and Diesel look similar enough to be brothers and I would prefer to keep things as simple as possible. You will need different clothes too, Lieutenant. Come with me and we'll see what we can find."

Monaco led the way to a bedroom that Garrison hadn't seen before. "This belonged to Francesca's husband." Monaco strode purposefully towards one of the large wooden wardrobes and excavated a beige suit, belt, shirt, tie and brown shoes which he threw onto the bed. "Here, try these. I'll see what the loft has in the way of luggage." The conman reappeared a few minutes later, carrying a small suitcase and a selection of more utilitarian holdalls. He looked critically at Garrison, then nodded slowly. "It looks better on you than it did on him. I hope the shoes aren't too tight?"

"A little, but they'll do." Garrison caught sight of himself in the mirror. He wasn't a vain man, but even he had to admit he looked good in the suit. He gave thanks for the good fortune that Francesca left early for Rome. He suspected he might have had trouble getting away otherwise.

Monaco left to get changed himself and give the holdalls to the others, leaving the Lieutenant to his packing.

**GG GG GG GG**

In the Villa garage was a large saloon, or sedan, car that would easily take the five men and their minimal luggage.

"Like the clothes, it was Francesca's husband's," explained Monaco, now smartly attired in a dark grey suit, overcoat and Homburg hat. "She hates the car and said not to worry if she doesn't get it back. We will leave it at the railway station and it can take its chance." Monaco stopped the car briefly outside the large wrought iron gates that separated the Villa from the road and waited whilst Chief pulled them shut and secured the padlock.

Chief slipped back into the shotgun seat and closed his eyes, trying to feign a relaxed appearance. In reality he was probably strung tighter than anyone else in the car, but it was part of his own 'con' not to show it. He pretty much trusted Casino and the Warden. It was getting that way with Diesel - the two had hit it off from the first - but Monaco was unknown. All he had to go on was Diesel's trust of the man. Things were positive so far. The Italian was more approachable than Actor and, so far, was making things easy for the Warden. Was the guy genuine? They'd know soon enough if the Gestapo were waiting for them when they got to Rome, but worrying didn't achieve anything, so he sat, waited and saved his energy.

The big car wallowed as it negotiated the large potholes on the minor road that connected the Villa to the main road into Rome. Monaco deftly corrected the steering where necessary, but never fought it. Chief cocked half an eye open, watching, feeling. The Italian drove like a professional. He closed the eye again and relaxed, knowing he was in safe hands.

They were in Rome by mid-morning. They had passed a couple of checkpoints, but been waved through without being stopped.

"It's the car," Monaco threw back over his should to the men on the back seat. "Who needs papers when they're driving this."

A quick visit by Garrison to a tobacconist to replenish cigarette supplies also yielded the necessary tickets and travel documentation. A quick glance and he knew that the person who had produced these was an expert - whoever Francesca's contacts were, they knew their job. In some ways it made him more, rather than less, on edge. He missed having Actor at his side with his keen insights and sharp mind. He climbed back into the car, dropped a packet into Casino's waiting hands and threw a second onto Monaco's lap. "Let's go. We've a train to catch."

**GG GG GG GG**

The station forecourt was almost deserted, testament to the fuel shortages that ordinary Italians were suffering. A couple of horse-drawn landaus were dropping off passengers, watched by two bored Wermacht Corporals. They looked away as one of the animals lifted its tail and deposited a copious amount of steaming manure onto the cobbles.

Monaco abandoned Francesca's sedan in a small parking area slightly away from the station itself, allowing the five to approach the colonnaded entrance individually. Monaco led the way, his attire the epitome of a successful businessmen. A matching leather suitcase contained a few personal items, but not his 'working man's' outfit. He wouldn't want that found if he was searched.

He headed for the guard furthest away from the horses, hoping to keep his highly polished shoes clear of the mess, although that was difficult, given the number of horse drawn vehicles now attending the station daily. He stopped in front of the guard and flashed the travel permit. He was waved through with barely a glance.

Casino went next. Dressed tidily but in what were definitely a working man's 'Sunday Best', he was carrying a canvas grip. His heart was beating faster. No matter how much practice he'd had with Garrison's team, he still hated screws, even if they were just gatekeepers. He stared belligerently at the soldier and thrust his papers at the man, challenging him. The guard just ignored him, handed back the papers and waved the safecracker towards the platforms. Casino now had a body pumped with adrenaline for which he had no outlet, a dangerous combination.

Chief and Diesel set off as soon as Casino disappeared from sight. They were almost certain they'd be challenged and searched - as they'd seen in Toulouse how their slightly exotic looks would always draw attention. Politely Diesel offered their papers to the guard - not just the travel permits this time, but also their French identification documents. "We have new jobs in the aircraft factory in Turin," explained the Mohawk, in French. Not expecting to be understood. He wasn't disappointed. The guard had no French. Diesel tried again using the words Monaco had coached him in. "Lavoro, fabrica, Torino." Light dawned in the guard's eyes. He pointed to Chief, who was looking vacantly at the horses and rocking gently from foot to foot. "Idiota?" he asked, curiously, wondering if the factory would want both young men.

"Fratello," explained Diesel. "Mani intelligenti." That was the end of his Italian. He hoped he didn't need anything more. He didn't. The guard was bored by now. He could see that his colleague was having a far more interesting time patting down two young women. Rather than dig through the contents of the bag that was being thrust under his nose for inspection, he pushed the two Frenchmen away and went to provide support to his colleague.

With both guards otherwise occupied, no-one was there to challenge the businessman in the beige suit as he made his own way onto the station concourse.

As predicted, the train was sleek, modern and electric. The only down side was that there were no compartments, which was going to make talking difficult. It was also packed with people of all shapes and sizes. After a search the men managed to secure a pair of seats which Garrison and Casino took, and separate set of three for Monaco and the two Indians. The seats weren't close, but at least they were in sight of each other.

Casino was still pumped up, something that Garrison picked up on immediately. Unfortunately there wasn't much he could do about it at the moment.

Things were easier down the other end of the carriage. Chief and Diesel were, as usual, happy with silence. Monaco had struck up a conversation with the young priest who was occupying the fourth seat in their block. The man was heading back to Milan after visiting the Vatican and was only too keen to share his experiences with the older man. All Monaco had to do was provide another prompt and off he'd go again.

Three hours later and they were changing trains in Florence. There was just time to grab a sandwich and a drink before the Bologna train left. The direct line between Florence and Bologna, through the Appennine tunnel had only been completed in 1934, cutting the journey time between the two cities to 75 minutes. With only another 105 minutes to travel from Bologna to Milan itself, they reached the city by late afternoon on New Year's Eve - and that was where it got difficult. The city had been devastated by Allied bombing in August 1943 and most of the public transport system had been destroyed.

Leaving the other four to wait, Monaco went off to find out what the situation was regarding getting to Turin by rail. He was back a few minutes later and pulled Garrison to one side. "We'll have to spend the night here in Milan," he advised. "There should be a train going to Turin in the morning. It won't be straightforward because of the damage to the line, but there are steam trains running."

"How 'bout pickin' up a car?" asked Chief quietly. With his sharp hearing he'd been close enough to hear Monaco's words.

Monaco shook his head. "Even if we could get one with fuel, we'd bring too much attention to ourselves. Only the Bosch are using them."

"How'd you know what's going on in Milan? Got more friends in high places?" Casino was still spoiling for a fight.

"Knock it off Casino," admonished Garrison. He really didn't know what was bugging his safecracker, but he needed him to keep a lid on it at least until they got clear of the station.

Monaco was unfazed though. "No, Lieutenant, he's right not to trust me and it's a valid question. I came here three weeks ago to check if my apartment had survived the bombing. Once I'd seen the devastation here I thought it unlikely, but the gods must have been smiling on me... which also means we can have a roof over our heads tonight... unless you would feel safer here in the station over night?"

Chief dipped his head to hide his smile. Even Garrison couldn't stop the corner of his mouth lifting slightly, although he knew that the interchange would have further antagonised Casino.

Monaco looked at Garrison and held eye contact briefly with the man. Garrison took the hint. "Unless anyone has any objections, I would be delighted to accept your hospitality tonight."

Casino bit his tongue. This guy was just too good to be true, but he didn't fancy New Year's Eve on a railway station in northern Italy.

As the five made their way out into a foggy December evening, Diesel made sure he was walking alongside the irritated New Yorker. "Would you be surprised if Actor had done the same?"

"Nah, Beautiful always finds us good digs," admitted the safecracker, reluctantly.

Monaco had drifted a little apart from the others and was walking thoughtfully with his head bowed and his hands sunk deep into his coat pockets.

Chief was still shadowing the Warden, scanning the other passengers, looking for trouble. "Warden, there's two guys in suits over there. Reckon they've clocked Monaco. Whaddya think?

Garrison flicked his eyes to see what Chief had seen. "Camorra," he responded. "Doesn't look like they're going to follow us. Let him know what you saw. Looks like he might have ruffled a few feathers here in the past."

It took about fifteen minutes to walk from the station to Monaco's apartment, on the second floor of a long, three-storey block. The conman unlocked and pushed open the front door then waited a moment to listen, before flipping a light-switch and stepping inside into a large open plan living space. The air was stale, but otherwise the room was undamaged. What furniture it contained was covered in dust sheets and the floor was tiled, not carpeted.

"Thought you said you were here three weeks ago," challenged Casino looking at the dust covering the floor. Reluctantly he stepped inside, followed by the others, leaving Garrison to shut the door behind them.

"I was, but I didn't step inside. I wasn't dressed for housework. As I am not now either," he laughed, looking at his dark suit. "I would have had someone come and prepare for us, had I known I would be entertaining guests."

Diesel couldn't help a barely suppressed laugh, which earned him a 'look' from Casino. He'd watched Monaco run rings around Captain Hayter on innumerable occasions whilst they'd been in Normandy together. There was no way Casino was winning this one.

"Casino, knock it off. We can have this place cleaned up in minutes if we all pitch in." Garrison looked down at his own suit, reluctant to soil it.

Monaco opened a door to reveal a cupboard containing cleaning equipment and overalls. Taking one set for himself and giving a second to Garrison, he took off his coat, hat and jacket, collected a dustpan and brush and set to work, closely followed by the Lieutenant. Diesel and Chief soon followed. Garrison caught the conman's eye and smiled. He was growing to like the man. He tended to take the initiative more than Actor would have done, but his judgement seemed sound and his contacts had already made things easier for the group.

Once he'd got started, Casino quite enjoyed himself. Even though he didn't go out of his way to help out at the Mansion, his Mamma back in New York had kept her house spotless and made sure her boys did their fair share of the work. Diving into the cupboard, he'd found a small machine, covered in dust sheets. It had a small electric motor on top of which was a label that said _Vorwerk Kobold_ and dangling on a chain from the handle was a brown canvas bag. "Hey, that a Hoover?" he asked, dragging the offending article into the room. "Does it work?"

Monaco looked up. "Yes, a German one. I'd forgotten that was there. Try it and see."

Everyone stopped work to watch as the safecracker took the cable and plugged it into a socket in the wall. The motor roared into life and dust around the brush end disappeared like magic. He moved the machine backwards and forwards a few times experimentally, and was delighted as he created swathes of dust-free floor. Casino was hooked.

With the apartment well on the way to being complete, Monaco excused himself. "We need supplies and something to eat tonight. Chief, perhaps you could come with me?"

Chief nodded and putting down the duster he'd been wielding, retrieved the heavy woollen pea coat he'd been wearing and strapped his blade holder back onto his wrist. His pistol was in the coat pocket. He took it out, checked the clip and replaced it.

Monaco twitched an eyebrow, but didn't comment. If the young Indian felt he needed to be fully armed to go shopping then so be it.

The two men exited out into the cold, foggy air. It was thick with woodsmoke, making breathing a trifle unpleasant.

"Why'd you want me, not Diesel?" asked Chief, curiously.

"To keep conspiracy theories to a minimum... and I thought you might enjoy the walk."

Happy with the answer, the scout switched into security mode. Nothing was raising the hackles on the back of his neck as yet. There were a few other citizens hurrying about whatever business they had, keen to get back into the warmth of their homes. A pair of Wermacht soldiers were patrolling the street up ahead, but they didn't seem to have any particular target in mind. Monaco took a right then a left turn which led them to a small street market. Most stall holders were packing away their produce, but were happy to accommodate the businessmen and his associate.

Chief quickly found himself burdened with packages. "Hey man, can't guard you carrying this lot."

"Point taken, Chief." Monaco offloaded the Indian as best he could. "We're on our way back now, we'll just stop by the restaurant and order some dinners."

Suddenly Chief froze, there was a man coming towards them that his instinct screamed out was trouble. It all happened very fast. The man made a rush at Monaco, in his hand a heavy knife which was heading unerringly for the Italian's chest. His target was no longer there. Chief had thrust his companion to one side, letting the knife slice through his heavy woollen jacket. The super sharp blade in his right hand slid smoothly under the would-be killers ribs and into his heart and the man dropped instantly to the ground.

Chief pulled his knife free and wiping it quickly on the man's jacket, replaced it in the sheath. "You all right man?" The Indian was already picking up the packages he'd dropped, hoping that he hadn't been carrying the one with the eggs.

"Fine, thanks." In fact, Monaco was shocked. Being attacked next to his own apartment here in his home country was something he'd not expected, even after Chief's warning at the railway station.

"Nowhere to stash the body, we'd better get out of sight." Chief was already making tracks back towards the apartment. It seemed as though no-one had noticed the altercation, but it would only be a matter of time before someone discovered the dead man.

Monaco's wits had finally come back. "This way." He led Chief across the street and down a small alley that came out onto a parallel street. He stopped outside a building that proclaimed itself to be a restaurant, although it didn't look to be open. The conman rapped on the door, which was opened almost immediately by a short, plump man. The smell of garlic and bread wafted out of the doorway making Chief's stomach growl. He hadn't realised just how hungry he was. A rapid conversation between Monaco and the chef, the door was closed again and they were on their way again.

Safe inside the entrance to the block, Monaco stopped and faced the young scout. "You saved my life back there. I want to thank you."

"It's what I do, man. It's nuthin'." Chief paused, before continuing. "That wasn't just some random attack was it?"

"It seems unlikely, but at the moment I'm no wiser than you as to who it might be and how they found me. He wasn't expecting me to have support though, so I think it was unrelated to our mission."

Back in the apartment, the cleaning squad had completed their work and were resting on the newly uncovered chairs and sofas. Garrison had shed the suit in favour of a more comfortable pair of slacks and a sweater appropriated from Monaco's capacious wardrobes. He hoped the man wouldn't be as upset as Actor might have been in the same circumstances. Casino looked up from his game of solitaire and picked up his pistol as the door opened, then put it down again as he saw the entrant was Chief.

"Hey what ya done to that pretty coat of yours Geronimo?"

Chief looked down to see not just a large slash through the fabric, but a large red patch. There was blood on his hand too. He'd felt the sting of the knife but hadn't realised it had done serious damage.

Garrison was quickly on his feet, stripping the damaged jacket from his scout and looking at the deep cut across his forearm. "What happened?"

Chief was stoic, ignoring the Lieutenant probing the slash. "Guy jumped Monaco. He won't do it again."

The Lieutenant looked quizzically at the Italian, but learned nothing. "OK, let's get that cleaned up."

Monaco had divested himself of his packages and outer clothing before he felt ready to confront the inquisition. "If I had to guess, I think it was a targeted attack rather than some random tramp wanting my wallet."

"You've made enemies around here?"

"One always makes enemies in my field of work, but yes, I think they were looking for me. They made a mistake in underestimating Chief." He locked eyes with the young Indian who was sitting letting Garrison sprinkle sulfa powder on his arm and butterfly the cut closed. Chief acknowledged the look with a slight nod.

A knock on the door brought everyone back to full alert, guns to the ready. Monaco shook his head and wearily climbed to his feet. "That will be Sacha. I hope everyone is hungry. I asked him to provide enough for ten."

"Goniff ain't here," commented Casino. "Eight would have done it."

As usual, with full stomachs and a plentiful supply of a rather rough red wine that got better the more you drank, everyone was pretty chilled. With only two bedrooms, both with double rather than twin beds, sleeping arrangements required a few compromises. Diesel and Monaco were fine together. Garrison decided he could cope with spending the night with Casino if it meant Chief could have the living room and sofa to himself.

"Get some rest. The real work starts tomorrow. Happy New Year everyone."

**GG GG GG GG**

New Year's Day dawned cold and foggy again. The eggs had survived the previous night's assassination attempt, as had the booze. As a result the boys had been treated to Diesel's version of a 'Full English Breakfast' - Parma ham had substituted for bacon, juicy Italian tomatoes provided a rich sauce, old bread fried in the ham fat was crispy and unctuous and a side of softly scrambled eggs topped off the whole dish."

Garrison pushed back his chair and turning his left wrist anticlockwise, exposed his watch. "OK, let's clean up and get on the road. We've a train to catch."

"Is it always..?" started Casino as he exited the apartment into the frigid January morning. He was actually feeling pretty chilled. His irritation of the previous day had disappeared with the attack on the conman.

"Foggy?" finished Monaco. "A lot of the time. It wasn't always this bad but more people are burning wood to keep warm."

The train to Turin left from the same station as the one they'd arrived at the previous night, so was only a short walk from the apartment.

Surprisingly the morning train to Turin was not only running, but it was on time. Neither was it particularly full, making it easy for the five men to sit close to each other. Monaco and Garrison had reverted to their 'working men's clothes' for the journey, knowing that it would be a dirty and uncomfortable trip on the elderly steam train.

The previous night's attack had not only changed the relationship between Chief and Hayter's conman it had also left the Indian curious about the man's background. He'd clearly been quite affluent before he'd fled to North America - the Milan apartment couldn't have come cheap. "Where'd you learn to drive?" he finally asked as they took their seats and the train pulled out of the station, expelling large clouds of smoke and steam.

Monaco smiled. "To start with I parked cars for people who came to the casino. But that wasn't what you meant, was it?" It was a rhetorical question, so Chief didn't need to answer, which was good as he felt slightly embarrassed at prying. "Rich boys have rich toys... I became friendly with a young man called Felice - we were the same age and liked many of the same things - one of which was fast cars. I was lucky enough to be given the chance to drive some of his race cars, but I was always too careful to get to the top - Felice was a risk taker, always fearless, but as a private owner-driver his car was too slow. His best result was a 3rd at Monza in '33 when..." Monaco's story trailed off as he remembered the fateful day.

"Monza, that's just north of Milan isn't it? There a race track there?"

Chief's interruption brought the conman back to the story. "Yes, it's where they run the Italian Grand Prix each year. We used to go each year - there were good pickings to be had in my line of work and the parties were infamous. It was a dangerous track for the drivers though. There were three killed that afternoon and it's a sight I never want to see again. I haven't driven a race car since."

**GG GG GG GG**

With only a few delays, the train pulled into Turin's Porta Nuova station mid-afternoon on New Year's day. Security was light, making it easy for Garrison's team. The Lieutenant had an address for their contact, but no detailed map of the city. Fortunately a news-stand had a plentiful supply and, not only that, a friendly shopkeeper who was only too happy to tell these new workers heading for the Fiat factory how to find their way through the damaged city.

The address for the contact turned out to belong to a small green grocery shop. A young woman, dressed in a heavy coat, scarf, hat and fingerless gloves, was keeping a close watch on her produce. She looked with interest at the tall, attractive dark-blond haired man that approached her. She waited expectantly, thinking there was a good chance that this might be the contact the Resistance had warned her was on his way.

"Hai delle arance?"

"No, ma abbiamo i limoni. Quanti ne desideri?"

Garrison breathed a sigh of relief, the pass phrases matched.

"Irene? I am Roberto."

Irene glanced quickly up and down the street to make sure no-one was looking, then delved under the counter and retrieved a small package. "The keys to your safe-house and its address are inside. I will let people know you've arrived."

Garrison nodded his head in acknowledgement and made his way to rejoin the others. Diesel, who had been skulking in a doorway, keeping an eye out for trouble slid alongside the Lieutenant as he walked away.

"All OK?"

"Fine."

They turned the corner and were quickly joined by Chief, Casino and Monaco. Garrison ripped the package open to extract the address. "Palazzo Livorno," he read out, searching for the address on the conman's map. He found it quickly. "Let's get a move on. We're getting short of time."

The safe-house was nowhere near as smart as Monaco's apartment, the paint was peeling from the plastered walls and large wooden doors, and rust was flaking from the window bars on the ground floor. The doors groaned and creaked as they yielded to Casino and Diesel's efforts to reveal a large paved courtyard with a central fountain. Ferns grew from cracks in the stonework and algae-covered water filled the basin. Parked in the middle of the courtyard was a large, black FIAT saloon car.

"Looks like we've got wheels at last," commented Casino as he stuck his head into the vehicle for a quick inspection. By the time the safecracker emerged he was on his own in the courtyard - the others had made their way into the building. What they found inside was a minor improvement on the outside, but not by much. A living room with moth-eaten chairs, a small kitchen, a bathroom with a menagerie of spiders and a single bedroom equipped with five army style cots and blankets. A pile of logs was stacked alongside the small fireplace.

Once inside, Casino had headed straight for the kitchen, but returned empty handed. "Just bleedin' K-rations and someone's nicked the chocolate and cigarettes. Good thing the little Limey's not here to share it with."

"Can it, Casino," snapped Garrison.

"Very funny," responded the safecracker, throwing himself onto one of the chairs, in the process disturbing clouds of dust.

Chief had set up watch by one of the windows. "Visitors, two dames."

Moments later two dark-haired women climbed the stairs into the living room. They seemed unperturbed to find themselves facing down the barrels of five pistols held in steady hands. "Roberto?"

Garrison detached himself from the other men, tucked his pistol into the rear waistband of his pants and stepped forward. "I'm Roberto."

The taller of the two women spoke first, in English with only a trace of an accent. "You may call me Maria and my friend here Camilla. You are a little later than we expected, but there is still time. The factory is only working six days a week at the moment with two shifts each day. There will be places for three of your men on the first shift on Monday morning, starting at 6am. Tomorrow you should be able to get into the factory to 'case the joint' as I think they say in your American movies."

The other woman then took her turn, in English that was much less fluent. "We are sorry that we only have canned food for you. Things are in short supply and the rationing makes it almost impossible to obtain anything fresh for you, but you should get a hot meal at the factory on Monday."

"That's fine," replied Garrison. Food wasn't particularly important to him when on a mission, and the others knew it.

"I will collect you at 8 tomorrow and show you safe a way into the factory," concluded the taller woman. The two took their leave.

"What do you think, Lieutenant?" asked Monaco.

"That they know as much about this mission as we do. So why do they need us?"

"I agree. As to why they need us, have you noticed that with this group we've only met women? Perhaps they simply don't have the skills to take the gold from under the German's noses."

"You could well be right," replied Garrison thoughtfully. "Let's see what we can do for lunch with those cans then put together a plan for tomorrow."


	6. Chapter 6

**The Mansion - January 1st, 1944**

Em headed over to the farm on New Year's Day morning to deal with the chickens and rabbits, leaving Amber to handle the boys. Actor had knocked his recovery back a little by his excursion the previous night and spent most of the morning sleeping. Goniff was recovering well however, and even managed to make it to the kitchen for some breakfast. Will was back at work in the Lieutenant's office, catching up on some of the paperwork that had built up over the last day or so and Molly would be doing both lunches and dinners, so the workload was almost back to normal.

"I'll keep an eye on Actor if you want to pop over and see Safi," the Sergeant-Major offered. It was only fair to give Amber a break. She'd born the brunt of the nursing, and it wasn't even as though it was her job.

Amber appreciated the change of scenery and a chance to stretch her legs and get some fresh air. She found Safi rummaging in one of the old sheds that doubled as storerooms, muttering obscenities to herself as she tried to disentangle the detritus that had been thrown there over the years.

Amber stopped in the doorway, and propped herself against the jamb with arms folded in front of her. "Are you looking for something specific or just taking your anger out on poor, defenceless rubbish?"

Sapphire straightened up and flipped her hair back out of her eyes. "Hiya Amb. How's things? Have you murdered either of your patients yet?"

"Not yet, but it's been a close call a couple of times." Amber smiled. It was hard to get really upset with Goniff, he always made you feel guilty for telling him off. "Should you be doing that, in your condition?"

"Amber, I'm 6 weeks pregnant and fit as a flea. I don't need wrapping in cotton wool, but I don't want the flu - so just stay outside the shed unless you're sure you're not infectious anymore, OK?"

"OK, point taken. So what are you looking for?"

"Pony harness. Mr McDonald says it's in here somewhere." Safi resumed her search. Moments later, a few bits of sacking and an old tin bath went flying to reveal a heap of tangled leather, wood and a couple of chains. "Bingo!"

"Sis, what do you want a pony harness for?"

"You don't think we're going to clear the walled garden by hand, do you when there's a perfectly healthy little cob eating its head off in the orchard."

"But Safi, you've never had anything to do with horses."

"True, but Millie has. Her dad was a costermonger in London and she said they always had a pony in the shed at the bottom of the garden until he died... her father that is, not the pony... she's sent a message to her mum asking her to send the collar since they don't need it anymore, thinks it'll fit the cob. Mr McDonald said they used to use a pony on the grounds at the Mansion - we've found a lawn mower, a plough and a little cart. We just need to get the rest of the tack cleaned and we're good to go."

A whinny just outside made Amber jump. She hadn't heard the approach of either Millie, one of the other Land Girls, or her charge - a rather woolly chestnut gelding with a white blaze. "Girls, meet Charlie our new one horse-power tractor."

"Charlie! You can't call him Charlie!! Just think how confusing it'll be for Casino." Em had finished her morning chores and wandered over to inspect the new acquisition. "Where did he come from?"

"He's a rescue," replied Millie. "Belonged to a girl about five miles away who got tired of horses when she discovered RAF flyers and joined the WAAF. Her mother said the people they got him from said he'd been driven before they got him, so he should only need a refresher. Do you want to give me a hand, Em? No time like the present to learn what to do with him." The two girls wandered off towards the yard pump to start cleaning the mud off the animal.

Em gave a big sigh, pretending to be put upon, but actually quite looking forward to learning about the new 'tractor'. It would certainly beat milking cows.

Safi had put all the tack into the tin bath and was carrying it towards the yard pump. "Millie says to wash everything off, rub it with saddle soap then oil it with this stuff." She held up a can of Neatsfoot oil. "Want to give me a hand Amber?"

By the time for afternoon milking, Charlie's tack was ready to go and Charlie himself was installed into a newly cleaned stable and tucking into a small net of hay. The three land girls had gone to deal with the cows and Amber had made her way back to the Mansion. Work on the garden would start the next day, providing the collar arrived.

****

**GG GG GG GG**

Sunday dawned cold and sunny, perfect to start work on the garden. Everyone from the farm had turned up, including Mr and Mrs McDonald, their two male farm hands (both conscientious objectors) and the remaining two land girls. With ten pairs of hands and four hooves, work progressed quickly. Brambles, saplings and anything burnable was piled on the bonfire. Everything else was piled into the little cart and hauled away by the willing chestnut tractor.

"What do we do with him whilst we have lunch?" asked Em, feeling sorry for Charlie.

"Tether him on the lawn," suggested Millie. "He'll enjoy a bit of grass and a chance to relax."

Back in the house, Goniff and Actor were both up and about and taking their ease in the Common Room waiting for the Sergeant Major to deliver their lunch. Goniff drifted to the window. Now he was feeling better he wanted the other guys back. It was just too boring here with only a still-fragile Actor for company. Even the girls had deserted him. He suddenly realised that the lawn wasn't the same as the lawn normally was. "Hey, Actor, what's this?"

Actor put his book down and pulled himself to his feet, to join Goniff at the window. "It's a horse Goniff, haven't you seen one before?"

"I know what a horse is, but what's a horse doing there?"

"Eating grass, from what I can see." The conman was curious too, but not about to show it to the irritating little Cockney.

"Ugh, it's left us a present too." Charlie had lifted his tail and deposited a pile of dung that was steaming gently in the cold air. "Good thing Chiefy's not here. What if he stood in that when 'e went out for his run?"

Two girls were heading towards the horse. "Hey Actor, who's that?"

Actor had turned away from the window and was about to return to his chair by the fire, but turned back out of curiosity. "Emerald."

"No, not 'er, the other one, the redhead."

"One of the other land girls I assume. Actor really wasn't interested, although he had to admit she was quite pretty, just not his type. "Why don't you go down and say hello." _And give me some peace and quiet,_ he thought.

"Well I just might at that," muttered Goniff to himself, heading down the stairs. He grabbed his coat from the hall and ran down the outside steps. The two girls were well on their way, walking one either side of the docile pony. He rushed across the grass. "Hey, Em, wanna introduce me to your friend?"

Emerald turned her head and stopped, forcing Charlie and Millie to stop too. "Hi Goniff. You're looking better, nice to see you up and about. "Goniff this is Charlie, Charlie this is Goniff although his mum calls him Rodney."

"Not the 'orse, Em. Your other friend."

"Oh her, that's Millie. Comes from your part of the world, I believe."

"Aya Goniff, nice to meet ya."

Millie wiped her hand on her jodphurs in a vain attempt to clean it then reached under Charlie's nose to shake the proffered hand. "Wanna give us a hand?"

Any thought the little thief might have had of accepting had to be put on hold though, as a bellow from the sergeant-major 'requesting his presence at the dining table', couldn't be ignored. Goniff gave a wry smile, making Millie giggle.

"E's cute. 'E one of the Leftenant's con's?" asked Mille, looking back over her shoulder at the slim man now racing back to the house. He tripped on the first step, but recovered his balance miraculously. On the top step he turned back, gave an ornate bow then disappeared inside.

"'E do that on purpose?" asked Millie, curiously. She'd gasped at the near fall, before she realised it had been a trick.

"Best second-story man around, they say," confirmed Em. The immediate interest between the two had been obvious. What would come of it she didn't know, but she wouldn't be surprised if the little pickpocket showed a new interest in gardening over the next day or so.

She wasn't wrong. Amber had gone back to the hospital the next day, having been pronounced non-contagious by the doctors. Actor's breathing had improved sufficiently that he was able to take short excursions outside, although he didn't stay long - the cold air irritated his lungs, but he knew he needed to push himself if he was to be ready for the next mission by the time Garrison returned.

Having dealt with their morning chores, the girls were back in the garden at about eleven, intent on trying the plough for the first time. Mr McDonald had come too to give the demonstration. He wasn't sure how it would go - he'd been a lad last time he'd used a horse plough, and this was new to the pony too. Millie would lead the animal whilst he got the hang of things. They wouldn't try for too much on the first attempt - he didn't want to scare Charlie, nor did he want him to overheat in his thick winter coat.

Hearing the voices from the garden, Goniff had donned his coat and made his way over the wet grass to see what was happening. He arrived just in time, and sidled up to Emerald and Sapphire who were standing close together, watching. "Cross your fingers, Goniff, the experiment could end here," advised Safi, showing the Cockney that she had hers crossed on both hands. He did the same, but it was Millie he was looking at, seeing the concentration on her face and the way she was biting her bottom lip.

The farmer clicked his tongue, encouraging the pony to walk forward. The plough started to bite and Charlie stopped, confused by the unexpected drag, but leaned his shoulder willingly into the collar when encouraged by Millie. A few minutes later they had their first (not very straight) furrow, a pony that was breathing quite hard and a very happy set of humans.

"Your turn, Millie. Em, you can lead the pony, then we'll stop for the day."

It took Millie a few goes to get the angle of the blade right, but eventually the second furrow was complete. "I'll rub Charlie down and put him away Millie, why don't you take our guest for a nice cup of Rosie Lea."

"Well if you insist..." Goniff was only too happy to walk back to the farm with the girls. It certainly beat watching Actor read.


	7. Chapter 7

**Turin - January 2nd, 1944**

Maria turned up at eight as promised. She was dressed as a man, in work trousers and jacket with her hair tucked up under a cap. She looked with interest at the remnants of the men's breakfast still scattered on the table. They had clearly gone out and raided some of the local shops last night, not that she could blame them. "Are you ready?" She didn't wait for an answer, but was already on her way out of the door before she finished speaking. Garrison hurried to catch her up, leaving his men to follow as best they could.

"The factory isn't heavily guarded at the moment. The Germans don't have enough troops in Italy to guard all the factories, so the men that are employed are not soldiers, but they have guns and will use them."

The walk to the factory took thirty minutes and Garrison was uncomfortably aware that their group of six stood out on the mainly empty Sunday streets, even though they had split into pairs.

Monaco and Diesel were walking together on the other side of the road from Garrison and Maria and about 50 meters behind.

"So you gonna tell the truth?"

Monaco looked at his team mate with his normal conman's disdain, but then let the mask slip. The words were the same, but the meaning was gentler. "What do you mean?"

"Monaco, we spent months together, I know when you're holding stuff back. I won't go as far as Casino and say you're selling us out to the Germans, but you're up to something. If you want me to have your back I need to know what I'm protecting.

"I can't tell you."

"You gotta give me something."

"You, me and Garrison. I'll tell you what I can, but you have to trust me for the rest. I've never let anyone in the team down yet, and whatever you think, I won't be doing it now."

Diesel considered what the Italian had said so far, then nodded. "OK, but you owe us something more than we have now."

Casino and Chief were the final pairing, 100 meters or so behind Garrison and Maria.

"You know, Geronimo, I still don't trust that Italian."

Chief ignored the nickname. He was used to it now and knew the safecracker didn't mean anything by it. "Me neither. I think Diesel's straight but Monaco's holdin' out on sumthin'."

"You think the Warden knows?"

"He can play his cards pretty close to his chest. I reckon he knows we're bein' conned, but he's just biding his time."

"So whadder we do?"

"Watch and wait, like we always do," drawled Chief, giving his unique enigmatic smile.

"Yeah, well let me tell you sumthin'... one of these days we'll wait too long and one of us won't make it."

The FIAT factory loomed ahead of them. They were approaching it from the north and from this angle it wasn't obvious just how long the five story, concrete structure was. Damaged by the August bombings it was no longer the iconic architectural statement it had been in 1939, but it was still impressive nonetheless.

"That's the main entrance," Maria said quietly as they headed south down the Via Nizza. A tall wall rimmed the perimeter, pierced by a guarded gateway. Small groups of men were making their way through them onto the site. Garrison motioned the other four to close up so they could hear the girl's final instructions. "Just flash your passes, we won't be challenged. Our permits allow us to work on a machine on the fourth floor that has been giving problems."

"That was too easy, babe," muttered Casino as the six were let through, along with a number of other men, with barely a glance. Maria was already purposefully heading for a tunnel that gave access to the centre of the 500m long oval that formed the main factory building. Chief watched her with interest. She was the first woman he'd seen that could walk like a man when dressed as one. They followed the agent as she disappeared into a doorway that led up a flight of wrought iron steps.

Reaching the fourth floor, she pointed to one of the machines. "That's the one with the problem. It's just a loose wire."

"Chief, Diesel, fix that then watch the stairs," Garrison advised as he dropped off his first two men.

The other four made their way to the top floor. It was empty of machinery and was just being used as a store for a number of vehicles, a mix of saloons, sports cars and commercial vehicles. Standing out amongst the rank of black saloons were three FIAT Spider open-topped sport cars, one red, one white and one blue. Ignoring the cars, Maria walked up to a group of three identical Fiat 508 vans that were parked slightly separated from the cars and threw open the the door of the nearest one. On the floor inside were four wooden crates. "These are what all the fuss is about."

"So whaddya expect us to do, lady?" snapped Casino belligerently. "This stuff's not exactly hidden. Every Kraut in Turin must know where it is. If you can't get it out how d'yer expect us to do it?"

The fact that Garrison didn't tell Casino to 'Knock it off' said a lot. He evidently felt they were being set up too.

Maria just shrugged her shoulders and pointed out the spiral road way that led from the ground floor to the roof top. "When they built cars here they started constructing them at the bottom and moved them up one floor at a time before they tested them on the race track on the roof. Would you like to look at the track? If not, I have shown you all there is to see."

"What about the guards?"

"They don't come up here at all, nor do they really patrol the factory itself. There are searches when people leave the factory in case they have smuggled parts, but an aircraft engine isn't easy to conceal."

"And do any of these cars ever move?"

"I've not seen it. The last time was when the three vans arrived."

"Who brought them in?"

"We can't be sure. It was done overnight, so no-one saw, but three identical vehicles were seen in the railway siding alongside the train from Milan that we think brought the gold. Come, we must leave - we've been here too long already."

****

**GG GG GG GG**

Maria parted company with the other five some way before they arrived back at the safe-house, slipping quickly away into a side alley.

"So, what do you think?" asked Garrison once they were once more seated around the dining room table. "Apart from Casino's opinion that we're the patsies in this game." Casino had opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again.

"You said the Allies will be bombing the factory tomorrow, is that right?" asked Diesel.

Garrison nodded. "That's right, at 12:00. That gives us about five hours to get the gold out."

"Why don't we go in tonight and get it? It'd be easier in the dark."

Garrison shook his head. "Too much of a chance getting stopped by patrols if we're out on foot during curfew. If we go in with the first shift we won't draw any attention."

"That's only three of us," commented Chief. "What about the others?"

"I think it might be time the SS decided to take a little interest in their factory," suggested Garrison. "I'm sure the owner would be happy to co-operate if the alternative was losing his lucrative contract with the Luftwaffe. Perhaps we might persuade him that it was in his interests to let us borrow one of those nice spare cars he has hidden away... Casino, Chief, see what you can find in the way of uniforms."

Chief unwound himself from the armchair he'd been slouched in. "Come on Pops, we've a job to do."

As the door closed behind the scout and the safecracker, Garrison turned on Monaco. "Right, I want to know what's going on here. I'm tired of being played games with. And that includes you too Diesel if you're hiding anything."

Monaco held his hands up. "I have not confided in Diesel at all. I had no idea he would be part of your team when I agreed to take part in this mission."

"OK, I'll believe that for now. Who're you working for Monaco? It sure as hell isn't our Special Services unit."

"British Intelligence, SIS to be precise. A lady called Pamela."

Surprise showed on the Lieutenant's face. "Tall woman, built like an Amazon?"

"I'm afraid I do not know, Lieutenant. I have not had the pleasure of meeting her in person. I take it you are acquainted however?"

Garrison snorted. "Briefly. She ran a debriefing I was involved in back in November with Captain Hayter."

"Was that when I was packed off to the kitchen the night we got back from France?"

"That's the night, Diesel, but I doubt you saw her either. You were asleep."

He might not have seen her, but he knew who she was by reputation. Nicole had spoken of her often during those last weeks in France. They'd been good friends before Nicole joined SOE, even shared a flat for a while. It sounded like the woman was doing well for herself now, getting a few promotions.

Monaco pulled the conversation back on track. "What I said that night at Francesca's villa was the truth. She wanted your team on this mission and knew that you'd lost Actor. She also knew exactly where I was and that I had no option but to do as she asked and join your team. If you are wondering, I used my own funds for the train and the food, but I am confident I will be reimbursed. You are not obliged to me in any way, Lieutenant."

"I wasn't," responded Garrison, sarcastically, "but thank you for the thought."

Monaco tipped his head in acknowledgement. "My briefing was simply to make sure you reached Turin in time to steal the gold."

"Who are we stealing it for?"

"Ah, that is the difficult one. Ultimately it is for the Italian people but perhaps it would be easier if I said who you are to stop from getting it. The Mafia are very interested as are the Communist Party. While it was stored where it is, it was safe - until it was decided that the factory was to be bombed again. So the gold needs to be hidden somewhere else, somewhere that it can be protected. If anyone can make it disappear it is your team."

"So who's Maria?"

"That I cannot tell you, but she's not Mafia and she's not a Communist. Pamela says we can trust her and I must believe that."

"I know who she is," commented Diesel. He'd been slouched in Chief's chair with his eyes closed, listening to the exchange and trying to spot any holes in Monaco's story.

The Italian conman shot him a look. "How?"

Diesel didn't answer the question. "She's SOE and her codename is Lynx. Nicole spoke about her, said how when she was in training Lynx was portrayed as the perfect operative, the one they all had to aspire to. She wasn't working out of Turin that I know of, but I know it's her."

"You can't be sure."

"I'm sure. It was something Nicole said about her being able to walk like a man."

"OK. I agree with Diesel, she's probably SOE," said Garrison, thinking hard. "So the other girl's probably one of the communists?"

"It seems likely. It would be in their interests to have infiltrated the local Resistance cell."

"So we can't just hand over the gold to the Resistance. It really does have to disappear."

"I believe you are right, Lieutenant."

Outside, the clang of a gate, American voices and booted feet presaged the return of the foraging party. Both men were carrying sacks containing uniforms and pilfered food. They seemed cheerful enough, but froze when they saw the expression on the Warden's face.

"Hey, we ain't done nuthin' wrong," protested Casino, not bothering to check if the look was directed at him or not.

"Don't worry, Casino. It's what Monaco's told us about the mission that's giving him a headache. Not you for once," replied Diesel.

"A Lieutenant and a Major. Was that what you wanted?" Chief dumped the jackets on a spare chair for Garrison to inspect.

"I'm sure they'll be fine, Chief. Gather round, we have some replanning to do."

****

**GG GG GG GG**

Two hours later and everyone had run out of steam. They had plans, backup plans and backup plans for backup plans.

Garrison started to summarise. "Chief, Diesel, Casino. You three will be going into the factory on first shift. Maria will have someone collect you as you come through the gates and take you to your work station where you'll be shown what to do. There's a thirty minute lunch break at 10 am. A lot of the guys take their food up on the roof where they can smoke. Go with them but only as far as the fifth floor. When the hooter goes for the end of lunch, Casino you take the van with the boxes, Chief and Diesel you take two of the Spiders and take them down the ramp.

Monaco and I will arrive in the offices just before 10 and insist they release the other sports car to us. I expect the manager will insist on coming with us, so make sure you're well hidden. We'll make sure he's gone before you need to leave, even if we have to tie him up somewhere."

"The guards won't be expecting any vehicles to leave, so you should get the drop on them. Knock them down if you have to, but try not to shoot anyone. Put the van at the back, it'll shield Chief and Diesel from any gunfire.

"And get me killed," remonstrated Casino.

"Nah, too thick skulled for that," replied Chief.

"Knock it off," responded Garrison automatically, barely aware of the interchange.

"Once you're clear of the factory head north through the city. I expect you'll pick up a tail pretty soon, but they're not likely to stop you until you're somewhere more remote. Both the Mafia and the Communists want to get their hands on that gold and they'll be happy for us to do the dirty work."

"Monaco and I will leave quietly via the other entrance whilst you're crashing out." Garrison replaced the detailed map of Turin with a smaller scale one showing the surrounding area. He pointed at a country road about 10 miles to the north. "I think you'll be intercepted somewhere along here. There are a couple of potential ambush sites, so keep your wits about you. Each of you knows what you have to do." He pointed to another spot. "This is where we'll rendezvous. There should be fuel there for us, enough to get to the coast. The MTB will be waiting for us from about 19:00, here." Garrison pointed at another spot near Savona. "It's about a three hour drive. Any questions?"

Four men shook their heads.

"OK, let's get some chow then get some rest. We've a long day tomorrow."

****

**GG GG GG GG**

The first part of 'Plan A' went as expected. With so many workers piling into the factory at 6am, entry was easy for Casino, Chief and Diesel. They were carrying tool bags with the few travel necessities hidden under the tools. A young man attached himself to Casino. "Sono Umberto, sei Casino?"

The safecracker nodded.

"Per favore, vieni con me, ti mostrerò dove devi lavorare e cosa fare."

"Wha'd he say?" whispered Chief.

"He's taking us to our work station and gonna show us what to do," whispered back Casino, pleased that he'd understood what Umberto had said. "Hey Chief, relax. You're puttin' me on edge."

The Navajo was both feeling and looking uncomfortable. He didn't like crowds and felt vulnerable trapped in the massive factory.

"Leave your knife where it is." Diesel had spotted the slight movement as Chief prepared to release the mechanism, and placed his hand on the other man's arm.

Chief shook it off angrily, but left the knife where it was.

"Ci sarà una pausa alle otto così potrai fumare e prendere un caffè ei I bagni sono laggiù."

"Coffee break at eight and the john's over there," translated Casino, pointing. "Come on, let's see what's inside an aircraft engine."

Garrison and Monaco strolled into FIAT reception a little before ten. They'd been driven there, by a young man they hadn't met before, in the black saloon from the safe-house courtyard. As was usually the case, the receptionist panicked at the presence of two senior SS officers who appeared unannounced. The shift manager was called to deal with the matter, but even having seen 'Major Schmidt's' letter requisitioning a 'vehicle of his choice', was reluctant to agree and insisted on telephoning the CEO. Minutes ticked by, but Valletta couldn't be contacted. Garrison forced himself to stay calm, but he knew they were running out of time. Eventually the manager returned.

"Seguimi, ti porto alle macchine. _Follow me, I will take you to the cars_." Having decided to let the car go, the man now just wanted to get the uninvited guests out of his factory, so set off apace.

"We're out of time," whispered Monaco to Garrison, in German as they set off in pursuit of the irritated manager. "The break will be over before we get to the cars. He'll see Casino and the others."

The Lieutenant agreed. "I'll knock him out. Hopefully he'll come to before the bombing starts. At least he'll have a chance."

With the shift manager asleep in a toilet cubicle, the two men hurried to their rendezvous. They were met by an agitated Chief. "Thought you weren't comin' man."

"Everything's fine Chief. Just took a little longer than expected. Which is our car?"

"This one." Chief pointed to the dark blue vehicle.

Monaco slipped behind the wheel, leaving Garrison to ride shotgun. It started at the first attempt. "Yeah, we got them all runnin' while we were waiting'," commented Chief.

At that moment, the hooter sounded for the end of the break. Chief vaulted over the closed door into the red car, Diesel into the rather dirty white one leaving the van, as agreed, to Casino. Moments later, the first three vehicles were on their way down one of the tight spiral ramps to the ground floor. Once on the level the three drivers floored their accelerators and headed for the exit nearest the rail marshalling yard.

The fourth vehicle, travelling more slowly, headed for one of the other ramps and a different exit on the other side of the building. Anyone watching wouldn't have known the two groups were connected.

As predicted, the two sports cars racing towards the gates took the guards by surprise. They were facing the road, not the factory, expecting any trouble to come from outside. Rather than raise their guns, both men leaped to safety, their rifles clattering to the ground. By the time they'd picked themselves up and started making attempts to retrieve their weapons, the brown van was bearing down on them, forcing the men to take evasive action for a second time. It too made it safely onto the road, with squealing tyres as it tipped onto two wheels. Casino, his foot flat to the floor, heard a couple of bullets strike the rear, but none hit him and the vehicle seemed undamaged.

Meanwhile, in a much more sedate fashion, the two SS officers had driven sedately down the other ramp and made their way across a car park towards the other set of gates. A long black saloon car pulled out of a slot in the car park and followed them.

Garrison saw the movement. "Mafia?"

"Possibly," replied Monaco. "We'll see."

Monaco pulled up at the gate to politely show the paperwork for their 'requisition' to the guard. They were waved through. The guard's attention had transferred to the black car behind. The Lieutenant watched over his shoulder as it was waved through without being checked.

The two cars drove in convoy until out of sight of the factory. "Pull over," instructed Garrison, reaching for his pistol.

Monaco did as he was asked and watched as the black car rolled to a halt behind them. Garrison jumped out and went over to speak briefly to the other driver. When he returned, he was smiling and the gun was back into its holster. "It's fine. Head for the rendezvous."

The conman did as he was asked. All the pieces were slotting into place.

****

**GG GG GG GG**

"Pull over here."

Garrison and Monaco were well north of the city now, but still some way from the rendezvous. The point the Lieutenant had indicated looked like it might have been a driveway into an abandoned property. There were rusty wrought-iron gates half-hanging off dilapidated hinges attached to tall stone pillars on each side of the entrance. It certainly hadn't been used for some time judging by the state of the surface. Monaco turned the Spider up the road. "There's a house up ahead, keep going 'til you get there."

Monaco tipped his head to one side, in acknowledgement but also in curiosity. He didn't remember seeing a house marked on the map they'd been using earlier. The Lieutenant was right though as shortly afterwards the driveway opened out into a gravelled courtyard which fronted a small villa.

"I take it you've been here before?" queried Monaco. It seemed the more likely possibility over it having been somewhere Lynx had told the Lieutenant about.

"Once, before the war," was the curt reply. "Come on. We can talk whilst I get changed." Garrison grabbed his kit bag from the boot, pleased that Casino hadn't forgotten to leave it there whilst he was loading the 'gold'.

"I assume that those don't contain what they should contain?" enquired Monaco, looking at the crates that were on show.

"Got it in one. We might as well leave them here, they've done what they were meant to." He put down his bag and grabbed one of the boxes. It didn't move. "Lead, I expect." The Lieutenant put a bit more muscle into the lift, but in the end it took both men's efforts to extract the boxes and carry them to the shade of the house.

The villa was locked and Garrison felt no need to break in just to change from his SS uniform. Instead he sat on the steps to pull off the tight boots.

"The puppet-master pulled a lot of strings, didn't she?"

Garrison looked quizzically at the Italian. "Puppet-master?"

"Pamela," Monaco clarified. "She sat in London and set this entire thing up. A little tweak here, a little pull there and we all danced to her tune."

Garrison finished donning his working man's clothes and boots and gave a final tug to his belt. "What will you do now, Monaco?"

"If you have no objections, Warden, I will take the car and head south. I should be safe enough dressed as SS. I think I will avoid Milan for the moment, it might not be good for my health... but if I take the car, how will you get to the rendezvous?"

"It's closer than you think, as the crow flies a couple of miles. I'll be fine. Get a move on Monaco - and good luck."

The conman climbed back into the blue sports car. "Thank you, Craig. Please apologise to the others, especially Lupo... Diesel that is... for my not saying goodbye."

****

**GG GG GG GG**

As predicted at the previous night's briefing, Casino, Chief and Diesel soon picked up a tail. Shadowing the van were two motor cycles, their riders dressed in long, waterproof coats. They stayed a safe distance behind, blocking any way out to the rear. Each time the sports cars came to a turning, they could see the side road was being blocked by black saloon cars. They were being escorted out of the city, with no opportunity to deviate. Possibly the faster sports cars could have escaped, by taking to some of the arcades of shops, but the van would never have made it.

Once clear of the houses, Diesel dropped his car back to sit behind the van. Chief, on point, knew where they were being shepherded. It was to the road Garrison had predicted, a winding switchback up into the foothills of the Alps. They would be sitting ducks for the Mafia they knew would be waiting for them up ahead. The Navajo pulled over and let the van take the lead then took up position wheel to wheel with Diesel, preventing any other vehicle from passing. Both cars hung back, increasing the space between themselves and the vehicle in front. Both drivers felt vulnerable in their open-topped vehicles, not knowing if or when bullets might start heading their way. The convoy was now approaching the place that Garrison had predicted would be the most likely point for an ambush, a small tunnel where the road cut through a rocky bluff.

It was up to Casino now. At the next bend, he gunned the engine and spun the truck. It slewed to a halt with its bonnet in the rock wall, the rear wheels mostly in fresh air. Carefully, the safecracker climbed to safety and ran back down the road, a machine gun in his hands. The two Spiders screeched to a halt, both drivers grabbing their own guns and turning in their seats, opened fire on the two motorcyclists approaching from the rear. The riders didn't stand a chance.

"Let's get outa here," yelled Casino, jumping into Chief's car. Both Indians reversed back down the road as fast as they could, avoiding the capsized bikes and bodies. The face of one of the riders could be seen clearly - it was the Resistance woman, Camilla.

"Hate killin' dames," muttered Casino as he took in the victim. "Doesn't seem right."

"She'd have shot you soon enough," replied Chief. He'd spotted the two machine guns that were strapped to the bikes. "They just didn't get the chance."

Up ahead, the Mafia reception party heard the sound of gunshots and realised that something had gone wrong. Jumping into their black saloon cars they shot back down the road as fast as they could. Travelling downhill, at speed, the first car didn't spot the van until it was too late and ploughed straight into it. The impact was the last straw and with a screech of protesting metal the brown van toppled down into the gully below, taking the first Mafia car and its occupants with it. The second car managed to stop, although it too nearly followed its mate off the road. A large explosion from below, accompanied by a ball of flame and thick black smoke, told of the final moments of both vehicles. The men in the second car climbed out, watched for a moment, then made their way more slowly back down the hill.

They ignored the dead motor-cyclists. The Communist women had always been the weak link, but the two organisations had agreed to work together on this plan to force the gold out into the open. Without the Resistance the Americans would never have been brought in to make the heist.

Meanwhile, the two Spiders had made it to a junction and been able to turn and face forward. They took the other road and drove as quietly as possible to the meeting point. There was a single car parked amongst the trees, the small saloon from the safe-house. Of Garrison and Monaco there was no sign. Pulling up alongside the saloon, Chief and Diesel made a quick check of the perimeter.

"Clear," reported Chief. He put his hand on the bonnet of the saloon car. "Cold. It's bin here a while."

The three melted into the undergrowth and prepared to wait.

"This'd make a great movie some day y'know," muttered Casino to himself, thinking back over their escape.

"Someone's comin'," Chief's hissed warning put everyone on high alert. "It's the Warden, and he's on his own," he clarified as he finally got a clear view of the man approaching. He stepped out into the clear. He was too cold to want to play games. Now he just wanted to get moving.

"Where's Monaco and the other car?" asked Diesel. He wasn't surprised that the Italian was missing. His part in this was done, and if he was going to stay in Italy he needed to keep a low profile. The attack in Milan hadn't been chance - he had enemies out there.

"Heading south," confirmed Garrison.

"You let him keep the gold!" Casino was affronted.

"No Casino," replied the Lieutenant, wearily.

"Well who has it then? It sure as hell didn't go over the cliff in the van back there and it was in your car when you left Turin. I moved the crates myself."

"No it wasn't Casino. None of us had it. We were just the decoys."

"So where is it?"

"In another car, heading for somewhere very safe."

"What did we put in your Spider then?" drawled Chief. Curious, despite himself.

"Lead bars."

Diesel laughed. "When did you find out the real story?"

"For definite, when I walked onto the car deck this morning and saw that the vans had been switched. The one with the gold in it had a dent on the fender. The one that went over the cliff didn't."

"So how and when did the gold get out of the factory?" asked Casino, not able to think this one through.

"It followed Monaco and me out of the back gates whilst you were creating the diversion at the front, in the CEO's private limousine. Looks like Lynx kidnapped him and borrowed his car last night. That was why the Duty Manager couldn't find the man this morning. She transferred the gold, left the car in the car park then waited for us to leave. The guard knew the car, so just waved her through.

"Beautiful," acknowledged Casino, nodding in appreciation of how the con had panned out.

Garrison glanced at his watch. "Come on, we've a boat to catch."

"We leavin' the cars here?" Chief was quite sad about that. He knew the sports cars were outdated but they'd been fun to drive and he'd hoped they'd need them for at least part of the trip. Now it looked like they were all going to have to cram in the black saloon.

"Sorry Chief, they're just too..." Garrison stopped in mid sentence as he heard the distinctive drone of heavy bombers followed by the whumph whumph of exploding munitions. The USAAF were right on schedule... "distinctive," he finished.


	8. Chapter 8

**Italy - January 3rd, 1944**

The saloon car got them within a couple of miles of the coast before it finally ran out of fuel. It was hard countryside to walk through, with scrubby trees and deep valleys, so where possible the group stuck to the road, diving for cover at the approach of any vehicle and skirting around villages and the occasional farmhouse. Eventually, scratched and somewhat sore they were close to the beach. "OK, lets rest up. We've a few hours until the boat arrives. Chief, see if you can find an empty house or barn."

With a nod, the Navajo slid away managing to move quietly through the trees despite the deep, rustling leaf litter. The others made themselves as comfortable as they could, propped against tree trunks. "At least it's warm," commented Casino. He was finding it hard to stay alert. It had been an early start and for the moment his adrenaline levels were low. His eyes closed and his breathing deepened letting both Garrison and Diesel know the safecracker was fast asleep.

Diesel looked at Garrison, who shook his head. "Let him sleep, he'll wake up fast enough if something happens."

The Lieutenant's statement was prophetic. A burst of rifle fire from down near the water had everyone leaping to their feet.

"Chief?" Diesel was already on the move, his own weapons in his hand as he slithered and scrabbled down the slope to where the noise had come from. Speed rather than silence was his priority. He could tell from the noises behind him that the other two weren't far behind. He managed to pull up just before he crashed out onto a small road. Garrison lost his footing but managed to save himself too by virtue of grasping a small thorny tree. Casino's slide ended as he landed against both the other men's bodies, nearly dislodging them again.

About a hundred meters away, four German foot soldiers were stalking around the perimeter of an abandoned farmhouse. They had their guns at the ready. Of Chief there was no sign. Waiting until the soldiers backs were turned, Garrison dropped down onto the road and scurried across into the undergrowth. Diesel and Casino followed suit. They needed to get as close as possible to take out the soldiers and, if they weren't to alert half of Italy, they needed to do it quietly.

Garrison had made good progress and managed to position himself close to the wall of a collapsed animal pen, from where he could see both the positions of the Germans and how close his other two men were. The first soldier walked past the Lieutenant without seeing him - and lost his life instantly as two strong hands snapped his neck. As the man fell, his rifle clattered against the stonework, alerting the other three who rushed towards the source of the noise.

Shocked, they looked down at their fallen comrade and that moment's hesitation cost them their lives too as Diesel's blade slit one man's throat, Casino garotted a second and Garrison knifed the third. Casino's man was still struggling, although well on the way to suffocating.

"Don't play with your prey, man. You're not a cat." Diesel stepped up and dispassionately dispatched the final victim.

"Now where's that goddamed Indian?" muttered Casino, heading for the farmhouse.

They found him eventually by following the trail of blood up to a room on the second floor. He was conscious and kneeling on the floor in a small pool of blood. Pain-glazed dark eyes stared at the man who'd discovered him, then he relaxed as he realised who it was.

Garrison clattered up the stairs moments later, stopping in relief as he saw his man was still alive. "You took one. Are you hurt bad?"

"Bullet's still in there," was the only reply they got.

"The kits are up in the woods. I'll go get them." Diesel shot off at speed. They would need to get Chief patched up and moved quickly. When the patrol didn't return, these woods would be crawling with Krauts before long.

"OK, let's take a look." Garrison moved closer to try and assess what the damage was, but Chief clearly didn't want him any closer.

Suddenly Casino guffawed. "They shot him in the ass." Chief in avoiding Garrison had given the safecracker a good view of the injury site. Even Garrison smiled slightly. This one was going to be interesting given the Indian's dislike of being touched. Casino pulled off his neckerchief and handed it to the Lieutenant. "Here, use that to see if you can stop the bleeding until that dammed Mohawk gets back."

"I'll do it." Chief loosened his belt then reached out his hand for the wad of cloth which was duly delivered. It was awkward, but he managed to get the pad into place and apply some pressure, even though it hurt like hell.

"Casino, better hide those bodies somewhere out of sight and see if you can wipe out any tracks. It might buy us some time."

As Casino disappeared from sight, Garrison locked eyes with Chief. "You're going to have to let one of us get that bullet out. It's three hours before the boat comes then you've got to wade through the surf and sit in wet clothes all the way to Naples. There's probably cloth debris in the wound, so it's going to be infected. Even with sulfa you'll have a fever before we can get you out."

Chief sighed in acceptance. He knew the Warden was right, but it went against everything he was to show weakness.

A noise outside had Garrison reaching for his pistol, but the distinctive whistle told him it was just Diesel returning with the kits. "Let's get you outside where we can see. The light'll be going soon. We need to get this done whilst we can see. Can you walk?"

"I can walk." Painfully Chief hauled himself to his feet and let himself be helped downstairs and out into the now setting sun. Diesel had dragged an old kitchen table out into the rear yard in a spot that couldn't be seen from the road and spread it with a ratty blanket. Carefully Chief lay face down on the table and let Garrison slide his pants and shorts down to expose the wound and apply a local anaesthetic injection. The Lieutenant quickly realised that matters could have been much worse. The bullet had entered at an angle, creating a furrow through the muscle. It had come to rest not far below the surface and was easily removed. "Riccochet," he commented, handing over the bloody item to his patient to inspect. He extracted as much debris as he could then rinsed the site as well as he could, but without sterile instruments that was all he could do for now. He had to hope that it would suffice until they arrived in Naples. Sulfa and a field dressing would have to be enough for now. Carefully he helped Chief hoist his shorts, regain his feet and secure his pants.

"Least it missed the family jewels," joked Casino, knowing he'd probably pay for the remark once the Indian was fit enough to fight back. He couldn't let his team mate know that he'd actually been worried about him back there.

"You gonna let me see to your hands now, Warden?"

Garrison was surprised to see Diesel advancing on him with a pair of forceps and antiseptic cream. Neither were standard First Aid kit items, but then his group weren't standard Army. They'd learned through bitter experience they needed to be as self-sufficient medically as they could be. In the heat of the moment the Lieutenant had ignored the thorns that had lacerated both hands. "It can wait. We need to get away from here. The search parties'll be coming this way soon."

"We could take their truck," offered Casino.

"Which truck?"

"The one that's about half a mile back down the road. Saw it when I was stashing the corpses."

Garrison shook his head. "Too obvious, but we need to get it out of sight."

"I'll do it," offered Diesel. "I can run faster than him."

"Why you..." Casino's fist was up as he prepared to throw a punch at the laughing Mohawk.

"Knock if off, both of you. Diesel, dump the truck. Casino give Chief a hand. We might as well get down to the beach whilst we can still see our way."

****

**GG GG GG GG**

With the disappearance of the sun it was cold down on the beach. Chief was shivering badly, partly from the cold, but mostly in reaction to the shock of the bullet wound.

Diesel had found them easily, despite having to run the gauntlet of a search party up on the road. So far though, no-one had ventured near their hiding place and of late any sounds of vehicle movements had stopped. Presumably the search would restart at first light.

"They're here." Diesel had been the first to spot the incoming MTB as it nosed into their small cove. Garrison switched on his small torch and flashed the short morse signal, hoping that the crew were watching. They were - and this time they'd brought a small inflatable rubber boat.

"Garrison?" whispered the man who'd paddled it ashore. "Need to be quick. We stand out like a sore thumb with this moonlight."

It was late morning when they nosed into Naples harbour. Chief was quickly transferred to the hospital to have his wound properly cleaned. Garrison went with him, partly to keep an eye on his man and partly to have his splinters seen to before they became infected. Diesel and Casino headed for the cots they'd been allocated. You took sleep when you could get it in this game. Garrison returned first, sometime just after midday.

"How's Geronimo?" asked Casino, stifling a yawn.

"He's good. The doctors have agreed to let him fly out with us. They'll take him straight to the airstrip." The Lieutenant threw himself down on an empty cot. "They're coming for us at two." It was the last thing he said before sleep overtook him.


	9. Chapter 9

**The Mansion - January 5th, 1944**

January fifth dawned cloudy and mild at the Mansion. Outside, the kitchen garden was now fully cleared and the girls were just finishing putting down the permanent pathways. After the first tentative experiment, ploughing had gone well and by the end both Millie and Em had been able to produce reasonably straight furrows. An old chain harrow had been unearthed and adapted so it could be pulled by a single pony, leaving a nice flat surface ready for sowing.

"It'll be covered in weeds again before it's warm enough to plant anything," moaned Millie as she and Em contemplated the completed plot.

"Nothing a bit of hoeing won't sort out," replied Emerald. "We could always put the chickens out here every so often, they'll clear it up as well as adding a bit of manure!"

Millie grimaced. She liked eating chickens well enough, but had as little to do as possible with caring for the birds on the farm.

"'Ere, I've brought you some teas." Goniff had become a regular visitor over the last few days, not actually getting his hands dirty, but supervising and making sure no-one got thirsty.

"Thanks Goniff love." Millie threw her spade into the back of the cart and took the mug with pleasure. "Heard anyfink from the boys yet? They're due back soon aren't they?"

Goniff shook his head. "Nah, probably missed the boat or ended up in 'ospital again. You'd better clear the lawn up before the Warden gets back. Charlie's been at it again."

Back in the Mansion, the sound of a jeep engine had Sergeant-Major Fletcher scurrying to the front door. It wasn't like the Lieutenant not to telephone when he landed, but then again...

"Hello Amb, back so soon?" The expression on the woman's face told him what he had already surmised. That her return hadn't been her choice. "Which one is it this time?"

"Chief," she replied, hoisting her suitcase out of the vehicle and stomping up the stairs into the house. "They didn't tell me how bad it was, just to get over here."

"Hello Actor. Feeling better?" she enquired politely as she passed the conman on his way downstairs.

"Much, thank you, although I doubt I'll be out on the obstacle course for a little while yet. Did I hear you say Chief is hurt?"

"Chiefy hurt?" parroted Goniff, trotting up the steps to join the conversation.

"That's what they said. Something about them wanting him here not in the hospital."

"Chiefy doesn't do with hospitals," clarified Goniff. "And the hospitals don't hold with us visitin'... says it upsets the nurses."

What Actor might have had to say on the matter was lost with the arrival of another vehicle.

The first thing Garrison saw as the staff car drove through the gates was the lawn. "What the hell...?"

Grazing contentedly on the lawn, protected from the cold with a jute rug, was Charlie. The pony lifted his head briefly, decided the oncoming vehicle was neither a threat nor someone bringing him a treat, and dropped his head back to the grass.

"Lieutenant?" Fletcher was as usual there to greet them. He saw the man glance yet again at the lawn, shake his head then tiredly climb the steps. Behind him, Diesel and Casino were helping the Indian out of the car.

It had been a painful trip for Chief. Unable to sit, he had spent most of both flights lying on his stomach across the seats. The staff car had been even worse. Too narrow to lie down he'd knelt on the seat most of the way from the airfield, forcing the other three to fit around him as best they could. Now all he wanted was some peace and quiet in his room. He suspected his wound might be infected, but had deliberately not said anything to Garrison, concerned that he might get left in Gibralter.

Once on his feet, Chief shook off the supporting hands, determined to make it up the stairs under his own steam. He made it across the gravel, but the first step defeated him.

"Come on Geronimo, let's get you upstairs."

Surprised, Chief looked into the eyes of the person who'd come to help him. It wasn't Actor or Goniff as he'd expected, but the young nurse he'd last seen on Christmas Day. He furrowed his brow, wondering why she would be here.

She answered the unasked question. "Sounds like the hospital prefers you recuperating here, far less disruptive."

Chief was too tired and in too much pain to respond. He accepted the support and slowly made his way indoors.

Meanwhile Garrison had turned his attention back to what had been going on in his absence. "OK Sergeant-Major. Debriefing. My office - now."

"Sir." Fletcher stood to attention, waiting to get the book thrown at him.

"Actor?"

"Doing well, sir. Bit wheezy. Probably be another couple of weeks before he's fit for duty."

"Goniff?"

"Fit as a flea. Just needed a rest and some good food. He's ready for duty now, although he couldn't do much in the way of running."

"The thing on the lawn?"

"Ah, that's Charlie, sir."

"I don't care what he's called, Sergeant-Major. What's he doing on the lawn apart from eating it?"

"Ah... well you said the land girls could clear the walled garden?"

"Yes...?"

"Well, petrol is in short supply and Charlie was doing nothing on the farm, so he was drafted in. Sorry about the lawn, sir, but we had to park him somewhere."

"Anything else Sergeant-Major?"

"Major Cavendish wants you to telephone him at your earliest, Sir, and there's been a message from Captain Hayter."

"Thank you Fletcher, that'll be all." The Lieutenant girded his loins and faced the mountain of paperwork waiting for his attention. What he wanted more than anything was a break. Some down time. Time to relax without the constant pressures of always being one step ahead of this team of men he'd somehow assumed responsibility for. However, he knew that like his men, it would be for at least the duration. Resignedly he picked up the first missive on the stack and started to read.

With Amber's help, Chief had made it to his room. He was aware that Actor had shadowed his progress. Privately he was shocked at how unwell the conman looked, but he doubted that he was winning any beauty contests himself at the moment.

Amber put her hands on her hips and tried to look as professional as she could. She cast an eye at Actor, hoping that he would back her up. The conman smiled slightly. He knew his reaction might make or break Amber's authority here.

Chief looked at Actor, but found no support from that direction. Resignedly he undid his belt and lay down on the bed.

Carefully Amber eased down the Indians clothes, with the aid of towels doing all she could to reveal as little as possible of the young man's anatomy. As Chief had suspected, the wound was inflamed and tight, but not seriously infected. She took a deep breath, determined to be professional. She couldn't deny that she was attracted to her patient, and it was hard to be dispassionate gazing at the pale skin in front of her. She was glad that Actor was there as chaperone as she changed the dressing and reapplied the sulfa. Once the treatment was complete she motioned the Italian over to help her. "Let's get your kit off Chiefy - you won't be going anywhere for a day or so, so you might as well be comfortable. If I'm stuck here nursing you, you'll do what I tell you - and Actor can tell you what a Rotweiler I am if I get crossed."

Actor carefully schooled his expression to show his agreement with Amber's words. He knew she was a bit of a pussycat really, but he wasn't going to tell Chief that.

It took Garrison an hour or so to finally unearth the airmail letter from Captain Hayter. He knew where Casino was - he could hear him exchanging insults with Goniff in the common room, but Diesel had disappeared. A glance out of the window solved the issue. The Mohawk was standing in the middle of the lawn, making the acquaintance of the chestnut cob. Garrison opened the glass, "Diesel?"

The man looked over his shoulder and with a final pat made his way back inside.

"Lieutenant?"

Garrison handed over the fragile piece of paper. "Looks like you're stuck with us for a bit longer."

Quickly Diesel scanned the words. Having got their man back on American soil, the brasses were going for their pound of flesh. He was training new Special Forces units, working alongside the British Navy officer that had trained their own team. Best guess it would be another two months at the earliest before he could get back to the UK. Gut feel - Diesel was safest where he was. Hayter wasn't in a position to protect him.

Garrison watched the man's face whilst he read the letter, waiting for his reaction.

The Mohawk took a deep breath. "I'll stay. You might need a scout for a while anyway. If not... I'm safer here than I would be back there." He handed back the letter and moved to look out of the window. Millie had come to collect Charlie and take him back to the farm. With a sigh, Diesel let himself out of the office.

As the door closed behind his 'lodger', Garrison picked up the telephone and called Major Cavendish. As expected it was a call to London for debriefing. If there was to be another mission, Cavendish wasn't letting on.

****

**GG GG GG GG**

It was late the next afternoon before the Lieutenant returned to the Mansion. With the exception of Chief, the remainder of the team had been waiting on tenterhooks for his return and were gathered in the common room.

"No briefcase," advised Goniff, watching out of the window.

"Looks like we're off the hook for a bit," added Casino, hopeful that a London pass might be on offer.

The Lieutenant deliberately held them in suspense for a while before making his way to join his men. He stood there silently, smiling waiting to see who would be first to ask. Of course, it was Casino.

"So what's the deal Warden?"

"Guaranteed 48-hours in London. No missions until Actor gets signed off by the medics, unless there's an emergency." He handed over the passes to the men. Casino snatched his out of the Warden's hand. Goniff, Diesel and Actor took theirs more slowly.

"Bet Chiefy'll be gutted losin' out," gloated Casino.

"I think Chief has other things on his mind at the moment," replied Actor enigmatically.

Garrison said nothing. The men hadn't asked, so he hadn't told them, but he had his own pass and was looking forward to his own two days of R&R. Fingers crossed the war wouldn't throw up any emergencies, two weeks without another Italian job would suit him just fine.

**Postscript**

• After showing increased activity throughout January and February 1944, Mount Vesuvius finally erupted on 17th March 1944. Eruptions continued for the next 6 days. On 21st March the USAAF evacuated the Pompeii airfield, leaving their aircraft behind. When they returned to assess the damage on 29th March, 88 B-25 Mitchell bombers to a value of $25 million had been destroyed.

• On 3rd January 1944, a raid by sixty B-17s of the 15th U.S. Air Force, dropped 156 tons of bombs on the RIV mechanical factory at Villar Perosa to the west of Turin, the FIAT plants in Turin itself and the adjacent marshalling yard. Sixteen civilians were killed and 42 were wounded.

• To this day there is a discrepancy between the weight of gold that was stored in the vaults of the Bank of Italy before the outbreak of war and that which was recovered afterwards. It's location is currently unknown.


End file.
